


Bitty Bakes It Off

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Bitty Bakes It Off [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Crossover, Great British Bake-Off, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-01-27 05:37:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21386986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: Bitty, Jack and the rest of the crew are contestants, cast members and staff on an American version of the Great British Bake-Off.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Series: Bitty Bakes It Off [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571029
Comments: 276
Kudos: 353





	1. Episode 1: Cakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notenoughgatorade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notenoughgatorade/gifts).

> I started this almost two months ago, based on a prompt from [notenoughgatorade](https://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com). Thanks so much for the prompt, and sorry it took so long! Thanks also to the lovely and talented [ToughPaperRound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToughPaperRound/) for the quick and thorough beta!
> 
> All remaining mistakes — including and especially baking mistakes — are my own.
> 
> I, of course, own neither Ngozi’s characters nor anything having to do with The Great British Bake-Off, although I borrowed liberally from each. The challenges in each chapter were taken mostly from actual episodes of the show (which ones are noted at the top of each chapter), although I did change some of the dishes baked and the outcomes.
> 
> The fic is completely finished; I’ll be posting two chapters a week, aiming for Sundays and Wednesdays. Enjoy!

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off Series 5, Episode 1_

Jack focused his camera on the mama duck leading her ducklings across the grass and into the clear creek. The babies all but fell in, then started paddling frantically, working to keep up with their serene mother as she floated above the pebbly bottom.

Once all the ducklings were swimming in a line, he stopped recording and turned to face the tent. There were Ransom and Holster leading this season’s bakers across the lawn from the farmhouse to the huge white tent set up in the backyard. Even from this distance, he could hear Holster making jokes about being careful crossing the farmyard — despite the fact that the stables, dairy barn and goat pen were completely on the other side of the property — and how no one wanted to put their foot in it with Hall and Atley.

Ransom walked next to him, backwards, making sure all the bakers stayed roughly in line and in Johnson’s shot. Johnson was walking backwards, ahead of the group. Foxtrot walked next to him, making sure the way was clear, carrying a clipboard that matched Lardo’s.

Lardo herself was waiting at the entrance to the tent with Shitty, who already looked like he wanted to give some of the bakers a hug.

Jack should probably head over. He’d spent time getting footage all around the farm in the early morning light: flowers and trees and goats playing and horses being exercised. He was calm and ready for the action.

Johnson had warned Jack that he would be needed in the tent, especially for the first few weekends, until the number of bakers was winnowed down to a more manageable number. 

“Dude, you’re like our best video guy,” Johnson said. “There’s no way this show works without you, or this plot either. I know you like the babbling brooks and fuzzy bunnies more, but trust me. There’s plenty of cute to shoot inside, too.”

Jack hadn’t really followed what Johnson meant, but then, he didn’t really have to. He just had to turn up in the tent with his camera before the bakers were turned loose at their benches.

Jack stationed himself near the back of the tent, between a tall, willowy redhead whose skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, and a short blond guy with big brown eyes and a determined expression.

“I can do this,” the blond guy was muttering. “It doesn’t matter that I’m the last one they picked. I am an award-winning baker. I deserve to be here.”

Unfortunately, the guy’s insecurity just marked him out as being likely to go home in an early episode, Jack thought. Maybe Jack only had two seasons under his belt, but he’d learned that calmness and consistency were key to success in the tent. Too bad for the guy — kid, really. He looked to be the youngest by at least a couple of years.

Jack checked his plan of the tent. The young guy was Eric Bittle, who was now looking all around the tent, like he wanted to memorize everything before he had to leave. His eyes caught Jack’s, and he quickly looked away.

The redheaded woman behind Bittle, in the last row, was Mandy. Next to Mandy was a woman who seemed so aetherial as to not be all there. She was named Jenny. Next to Bitty was a tall Asian guy with a blinding smile. Christopher, with “Chowder” in parentheses on Jack’s chart. Who would choose that for a nickname?

There was a general ruffle as the doors opened again and Alice Atley and Rob Hall stepped in.

“Ladies and gentlemen and bakers of other and no gender, I present our esteemed judges,” Holster was saying.

Alice Atley looked like what she was: a force to be reckoned with. Despite her small stature — she was shorter than Bittle, maybe even shorter than Lardo — she had an air of authority. Her clothing was always neat and perfectly in place, her voice never wavered and she gave the impression that her eyes saw everything. Even what was happening behind her.

“Welcome, bakers,” she was saying. “We’ve set some real challenges for you in the weeks ahead, and we certainly hope to find that you are up to them.”

She didn’t sound like she expected that to be the case.

Rob Hall, a barrel-chested man whose enthusiasm provided a foil for Atley, jumped in. “You’re one of the best groups we ever assembled. More than 10,000 people applied to be standing where you are, so you’re all already winning bakers in our eyes. I can’t wait to taste what you make for us.”

Bittle, for some reason, had gone pale when the judges arrived, Jack noticed. If that was how he responded to were supposed to be confidence builders, how would he react to criticism? 

“Your signature challenge this week is to create a Swiss roll,” Ransom said. “You can make any flavor sponge, any flavor filling, cream or jam. Ready, get set —” Marty followed Atley and Hall to the small tent they used to while away the baking time. He would shoot them briefly discussing what made a good Swiss roll before coming back.

Jack started capturing video of the bakers measuring flour and whipping eggs. Johnson was trailing Holster as he visited individual benches and Tater was following Ransom, who seemed a little distracted and off his game. That meant Jack was free to shoot what amounted to B-roll, mostly staying to the rear of the tent.

He had trouble keeping Mandy and Jenny in focus; no matter what he tried, they either seemed blurred at the edges or were maddeningly slipping out of the frame.

Christopher — Chowder — seemed to have a lot going on with his cake, more than most of the other bakers at least, but he never lost his sunny smile. The trick with him would be to show off his good humor without making him look goofy.

That might be difficult given how hard he was working to get the attention of the woman in front of him

“Cait! Cait, how long are you going to bake your sponge for?”

Cait, who had just been kneeling in front of her oven door and peering in the window, said, “Until it’s done,” like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Chowder looked a bit crestfallen, but only for a moment. Then the sunny smile returned as he started stirring something, probably for his filling.

The bench next to Cait was occupied by a tall red-haired man who had put his muscles to good use in the egg-beating stage. It looked like he was going for a traditional Swiss roll, with a vanilla sponge and strawberry jam filling.

The air filled with the smell of sugar and jam and chocolate as the sponges baked and the bakers stirred and tasted and tested their fillings and icings.

The sponges were starting to come out of the ovens. Jack made sure to capture the moments when Bittle, Chowder, Mandy and Jenny pulled their cakes out, watched them roll the cakes loosely to cool, then roll them tightly with the filling.

“What we’re looking for,” Atley said, “is that tight roll so we get a nice swirl when we cut into it.”

“And, of course, the flavor,” Hall said.

Cait’s coffee and hazelnut cake won approving comments, as did a red velvet swiss roll made by someone named Ollie. Eric’s chocolate tiramisu seemed to come about the middle of the pack; it was rolled tightly, but the filling was too wet. Mandy was towards the bottom; apparently, her filling all but disappeared.

* * *

That seemed to be a theme. Mandy’s cherries in the technical bake (Atley’s cherry cake) disappeared again.

“Maybe I chopped them too small?” she said.

“That must be it,” Atley said.

The rest of the cakes looked fine to Jack, although the judges seemed partial to Cait’s again.

Jack and Johnson set up outside to do quick-hit interviews before the bakers were shuttled back to the hotel.

“I’ve had a brilliant first day!” Cait said. “I only hope I do well enough tomorrow to not ruin it.”

“The competition is something else,” Chowder said. “Did you see Cait? How did she do that cherry cake so perfectly? She must have done it before. She’s really something else, isn’t she?”

“It seems like I’m just … not all here today,” Mandy said.

“Maybe tomorrow they’ll notice me,” Jenny said.

“It could have been worse,” Bittle said. “I think I’m middle of the pack, which, given who I’m up against, is really very good, especially since cakes aren’t really my specialty. I’m just hoping to stick around as long as I can, I guess, and maybe learn some things.”

Jack was packing up when Johnson approached.

“You got Bitty?” he said. “Eric, I mean. Eric Bittle.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Seemed fine. Nothing special. Why the interest?”

“I kind of recommended him,” Johnson said. “There was a last-minute opening when a baker dropped out, and I told Lardo to give him a call. He keeps saying bless my heart, and I don’t know if he means it the good way or the bad way. And if it’s bad, I’d better stay out of his way.”

“Him?” Jack said. “Pretty sure he couldn’t hurt a fly, even if he wanted to.”

“That’s what you think now,” Johnson said. “But the path of true love never did run smooth, or something like that.”

“Right,” Jack said, totally lost now. “Catch you tomorrow.”

* * *

The first showstopper day dawned clear and warm, something Jack was acutely aware of because he was out setting up a time-lapse shot of the sun rising over the tent, with the bucolic trees and meadows all around. Jack had been up for hours when the bakers trooped into the tent, already commenting on how warm it was.

Jack was feeling it, too, and he’d been around the show enough to know that emotions tended to rise with the temperatures. He’d have to be on his toes today.

Jack was once again stationed near the rear of the tent. It didn’t seem like anyone back here was likely to be in the running for star baker, but disasters made for good TV as well.

As soon as the bakers were settled, all wearing yesterday’s clothes but with clean aprons on, the judges and Ransom and Holster appeared at the front.

“Bakers, your challenge for today will be to make 36 identical mini-cakes,” Ransom said. 

“You can make any kind of cake you want,” Holster said. “Any flavor, any kind of sponge, but they must be as alike as possible. So if you want to build a three-foot tower of spun sugar on your cupcakes, go ahead. Just remember you’ve got to do it 36 times.”

“That said, the judges do want to see original decoration,” Ransom reminded the bakers.

“Get ready, get set,” Holster said.

“Bake,” Ransom intoned in a deep voice.

The noise of 12 mixers took over the tent, and Jack took a moment to focus. There seemed to be a lot of people working with lemons, Jack saw, including Bitty, who also had some thyme on his bench. Jack got him zesting lemons, then stirring something in a saucepan.

Bittle noticed the lens on him and started talking to it, almost like Jack wasn’t there.

“This is going to be a lemon curd,” he said, “for the filling. There will also be lemon and thyme in the sponge, and a lemon drizzle over the top. Here’s hoping there’s not too much lemon for the judges!” 

Bittle flashed a smile and Jack nodded before he turned away.

Mandy was doing something with chocolate and cherries, and Jenny was seemed to be making four different flavors of sponge. 

Chowder was also using lemons, but he appeared to be making a raspberry jam filling as well.

“I just need this to set,” Chowder was saying, more to the jam than to the camera. “Set, please set.”

It looked like Chowder was almost focused enough on his own baking to lose track of Cait, who had finished her orange-flavored jam and was melting chocolate, probably for a glaze. Next to her, Will was making what looked like miniature coffee cakes, flavored with coffee and orange.

“Fifteen minutes, bakers!” Holster said.

Jack made another circuit of the back of the tent, avoiding Ransom and Holster as they engaged and distracted the bakers trying to get their decorations done.

Chowder was hopelessly behind, it looked like, but still somehow smiling. Bittle’s cakes looked … good. Not stunning, necessarily, but consistent, like something you’d actually buy in a bakery.

Jenny’s were, frankly, messy.

“Bakers, time!” Holster called. “Step away from your cakes.”

Jack’s camera wouldn’t be needed for the judging, so he went to set up outside for the post-interviews.

As the bakers came out, it appeared that Jenny had squeaked through, due to an even bigger disaster for someone named Esther who was baking up front.

“Sometimes it’s just not meant to be,” Holster was saying to her, arm about her shoulders as he walked her towards Johnson. “Mixing up the salt and sugar can happen to the best of us. Bad luck for it to happen on the first weekend, though.”

Jack got Cait, beaming after being named star baker.

“This weekend was just perfect,” she said. “Though I suppose that makes it hard. It can only go downhill from here, right?”

“I’m still not sure I’m meant to be here,” Bittle confessed moments later to Jack’s camera. “I’ve got to get back to school and do my exams this week. But this weekend went as well as I could have expected.”

_Bitty’s tiramisu cake is something like [this](https://anitalianinmykitchen.com/chocolate-tiramisu-cake-roll)._

__

_[Mary Berry’s cherry cake](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/marys_cherry_cake_17869)._

_ __ _

_[Lemon-thyme drizzle cakes](http://www.pbs.org/food/recipes/mini-lemon-thyme-drizzle-cakes/)._

_ __ _


	2. Episode 2: Biscuits

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off Series 6, Episode 2_

“All right bakers, you’re back for biscuit week,” Ransom said.

“And all of you Americans know what that means,” Holster chimed in. “Cookies!”

“But not just any cookies,” Holster said. “Your signature bake is to give us 24 identical biscotti.”

“Alice and Rob will be looking for biscotti that have the perfect crunchy texture, the perfect flavor and are all the same size,” Ransom said.

Atley stepped in front of the bakers. “‘Biscotti’ means twice-baked in Italian,” she said. “A perfect biscotti has got to be dry all the way through, but you have to be able to get your teeth through it.”

“You have two hours,” Holster said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack had finished his exterior shots before the bakers arrived, and was once again set up near the rear of the tent. The bakers he had been following last week were all present and accounted for, although Jenny and Mandy once again seemed to slip in and out of focus. Maybe there was a problem with his lens?

Most of the bakers seemed to be using similar recipes. Jack saw cranberries on several benches, along with pistachios and other nuts. It looked like Bittle had pecans, along with dried apricots and the ubiquitous cranberries.

Chowder had some berries Jack didn’t even recognize. Mandy had gone without fruit at all —

Jack saw chocolate chips and hazelnuts on her bench, and Jenny was making something that included white wine. 

Will, in front of Jack, was telling the judges and Holster that his biscotti would include orange and rosemary for a Mediterranean flavor.

Atley fixed him with a look. “That could be disastrous or fantastic,” she said. “I can’t wait to see which. Good luck with it.” 

Jack hoped Tater got the way Will’s ears turned red when she said it.

The judges headed toward Cait, as Holster said, “Does it actually make you feel better when she says ‘good luck’?”

“No,” Will said, and then looked back down at his dough.

Holster moved over to where Cait was explaining her wedding biscotti with fennel and and sesame seeds.

“I actually found the recipe when I was on a tour of Italy last year with my volleyball team,” she said.

Jack made sure to get footage of the four bakers in the back of the tent putting what looked like loaves of biscotti dough in the oven.

Most of the bakers took a few minutes to chat and relax while they baked, between bending over or kneeling down to peer in their ovens. Bittle looked at Jack with a smile, like he was going to say something, but Jack returned a blank stare. Jack didn’t want Bittle to think he would play favorites.

So Bittle turned his smile on Chowder, who returned it at full wattage.

“I don’t even like biscotti,” Bittle said. “Too hard. And I had to make about two hundred of them this week just to make sure I could do it right. Good thing my team’s not fussy. They’ll eat anything.”

“They’re all right,” Chowder said. “I guess. What kind of a team are you on?”

“Hockey,” Bittle said.

Hockey? At that size? And with all this time to bake? When Jack had played hockey, there wasn’t room in his life for anything else. Sure, it was the off-season, but shouldn’t Bittle be working out, getting stronger? Not spending ten weekends in a row baking in a tent on a farm in the middle of Nowhere, Massachusetts?

Well, it wasn’t Jack’s problem. Surely Bittle’s coaches would have their own thoughts about it. 

Then the bakers began pulling their loaves out, and the judges and hosts started their rounds again. 

“Pecan’s not the most traditional nut for biscotti,” Rob said to Bittle. 

“I know, but I’ve been baking with pecans” — that was a funny way to pronounce “pecan”— “since I was knee-high to a grasshopper,” Bittle said. “I’ve always liked them. I would have used peaches, too, but I think the apricot gives it a little more tartness.”

“Is tart what you want in biscotti?” Rob asked.

“I don’t know, is it?” Bittle asked. “It’s kind of what you want that matters here, right?”

Bittle was arranging his biscotti on a tray and nearly dropped them when Holster stepped to the middle of the tent and and called, “This is your two-minute warning. Two minutes until it’s time to toss your cookies!”

In the end, it was Will’s rosemary and orange biscotti that impressed the judges most. 

Bittle, Cait and Chowder all had biscotti that fell into the acceptable category for the judges. The white wine biscotti Jenny made were ruled good, but several bakers were criticized for underbaking, as their biscotti were too soft.

Jack sat with Shitty and Lardo in the craft tent for lunch.

“So who do you like, Jackabelle?” Shitty said. “Or is too soon to tell?”

“There’s some good ones this time,” Jack said. “And some that aren’t so good. I’d say Cait is up there so far, and Will. It’s hard to pin down the two at the back, and I don’t really know most of the ones up front.”

“What about Bitty?”

“Bitty? You mean Eric Bittle?” Jack asked. “A little overmatched, maybe? You know Johnson knows him?”

“Yeah, they overlapped at school for like a year,” Shitty said. “I guess Bitty introduced himself to the hockey team with pie and never stopped baking. That’s why Johnson thought of him when we needed someone at the last minute. It’s cool, though. He’s won a bunch of baking awards in Georgia and has a baking vlog.”

“He just doesn’t seem really up to the level of competition,” Jack said. “Like he might collapse if Atley says a harsh word to him. Which is going to happen.”

“Makes for good TV when they cry,” Lardo said.

Shitty and Jack looked at her. She shrugged. “It does. And everyone will feel sorry for him and love him all the more because he looks like a cute little bunny and then he’ll get over it. Look, I talked to him when we invited him on. He was nervous, but over the moon to even meet Atley. He’ll be fine.”

“You hope,” Shitty said.

“He will,” Lardo said.

Jack took a bite of one of the biscotti on their table. Apricot. And it tasted good.

* * *

Foxtrot had the tent set up for the technical challenge when the bakers returned.

“Okay, bakers, we’re going to dismiss Rob and Alice, but since this recipe is one of Rob’s, let’s ask him for one piece of advice first,” Ransom said.

“Be patient,” Rob said.

“Be patient,” Holster repeated. “Now off you two go.”

He paused to watch them leave the tent.

“For the rest of you, you are to make eight arlettes. The recipes are on your benches and there are two hours on the clock. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

The arlettes seemed to be a struggle for most of the bakers. Or, really, understanding what the recipe was, was a struggle, Jack decided.

They mostly started by combining flour and salt, then adding wet ingredients to make a dough. Bittle, Jack noticed, didn’t start immediately. He read the recipe through — maybe twice? three times? — and then smiled.

“This is puff pastry,” he said to nobody in particular. “This I can do.”

Jack made sure to get footage of bakers trying — and failing — to roll butter into a rectangle, and shuttling dough in and out of the fridge.

“I just don’t know what this is supposed to look like,” Chowder said. Then he peeked at Bittle’s bench, where Bittle was calmly rolling his dough into a log and then slicing it.

Bittle started flattening his slices and said, “You all right, Chowder?”

“Got it,” Chowder said.

The arlettes were in the ovens when Jack heard a wail from Mandy.

“My oven’s not set right!” she said. “These won’t be done!”

Jack wasn’t surprised when Bitty took top marks for his arlettes, which looked like large, thin, crispy spirals. Mandy was last, with the four arlettes she managed to present underdone. Neither Will nor Cait did especially well, but they didn’t do poorly either.

“I was so glad it was pastry,” Bittle said to Jack’s camera afterward. “I only hope I’m still here for pies!”

Then Shitty appeared, trying to pry a weeping Mandy from Ransom. 

“I should have checked the oven,” she said to Jack’s camera, before disappearing behind a veil of tears.

Jack shook his head and packed up for the night. He loved how into their baking the contestants were, but some of them were too easily rattled by the tent, the noise and movement and distraction, and the judgment of Atley and Hall. He understood not liking the scrutiny — Lord, did he understand — but they volunteered for this.

* * *

Looking over the bakers in the tent, Jack suspected Will, whose profile included information about building things in his spare time, would be good at this weekend’s showstopper. The bakers were to make 24 cookies and present them in a box made out of cookie dough — dough of a different type from the cookies contained in the box.

If anyone could build something out of cookie dough, it would probably be Will.

Of the group in the back of the tent, Jack thought Mandy might have a hard time, especially after yesterday, when things went so wrong for her. And Bittle seemed like he might wilt under the pressure, too. 

Bittle, Chowder and Mandy all started with gingerbread dough, even though Jack knew they’d been told not to make gingerbread houses. It seemed like Bittle and Mandy were using templates to make the pieces they’d need; Chowder was using a bowl as a mold, making a round box.

Jenny — Jack wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing.

Jack lost track a bit of Jenny and Mandy when Ransom and the judges approached Will. It turned out that he wasn’t just good at building things out of dough — he’d built his own device to bake a seamless cylinder of shortbread, using two pieces of curved aluminum. Then he planned to make macarons to fill it and decorate the outside.

If it worked, it would be impressive.

Jack turned to get some footage of Chowder. It looked like his bowl of gingerbread had cracked, and was rushing to do it again.

Then he heard Bittle say, “It’s a Zamboni.”

Jack swung his camera back around. Ransom noticed and prompted Bittle to repeat himself.

“It’s a what?” 

“It’s a Zamboni,” Bittle said, peeling his gingerbread pieces from the baking parchment. “You know, to clean the ice at hockey rinks? I’m going to use fondant to make a seat and steering wheel, and the top will come off and I’ll have maple-flavored shortbread hockey sticks.”

“And you’re going to make them all by hand?” Hall asked. 

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re going to have time for that?” Atley asked.

“I think so,” Bittle said.

“And do the decoration on the Zamboni?” she said. “Good luck.”

“I’m gonna need it,” Bittle said.

They moved on to Mandy, who squeaked when Ransom approached with the judges. She told Ransom all about her Russian tea box while the judges looked on. Maybe they freaked her out too much. It didn’t matter; Jack had shot her face as she talked so it looked like she was addressing the judges.

As the day wore on, Jack watched the projects come together. Chowder was filling his domed box with fortune cookies, which had to be filled with a paper slip and folded one by one while they were hot. 

He seemed to be in a rhythm until Holster stopped to chat with him and put his hand on the lid, breaking it clear across.

“Dude,” Holster said. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Chowder shook his head. “I just have to make something else,” he said.

Bittle’s hockey sticks were clearly recognizable, and Jack was happy to see the flavoring came from real maple syrup. Jenny’s box was completely covered with icing. Mandy seemed to be having trouble finishing. Then she dropped the lid to her box and cracked it in two.

Bittle jumped at her scream, then turned back to where he was piping wheels and decorations on the Zamboni.

“Bakers! Five minutes!” Holster called.

Mandy squealed again, and Bittle muttered to himself, and Chowder piled his fortune cookies in the bowl.

Will’s round box seemed to have worked, and to no one’s surprise he was star baker. Atley especially liked Bittle’s Zamboni, though, calling it 'creative.'

When it came to Chowder, she said, “I thought you were going to have a domed top?” “I broke it,” Holster said.

“Well, the bottom is nice and crisp,” she said. “And the fortune cookies are nice.”

Another baker, Derek, got compliments on his gingerbread box with brandy snaps.

Neither Mandy or Jenny got high marks — both had soggy gingerbread, apparently — but it was Mandy going home. 

Jack thought Ransom seemed relieved, until she attached herself to him again. Shitty had to separate her from Ransom once more to do her closing interview.

“It was brilliant being here,” she said. “Being with Ransom.”

Yeah, that was going to get cut.

Bittle was slightly more chipper.

“This week was actually kind of fun,” he said. “I’m beginning to think I can do this.”

Before he walked away, Shitty said, “Did you know Jack here played hockey, too?”

“Did you?” Bittle said.

Jack nodded.

“I’ll have to make sure you get some of my cookies,” Bittle said.

“That’s not necessary,” Jack said. After all, they would be on the crew table.

Bittle’s face fell.

“Okay, then,” he said, and walked away.

_Bitty’s biscotti would be similar to [this](https://www.budgetbytes.com/almond-apricot-biscotti), but with pecans._

_[Arlettes](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/arlettes_17164)_


	3. Episode 3: Bread

_The baking challenges in this episode are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 6, Episode 3_

The tent felt less crowded now that there were only 10 bakers. Another two gone, and he could probably get released from tent duty. He’d rather spend his time outdoors anyway, getting the environmental shots of the farm and the surrounding countryside that were used to connect the scenes. 

He didn’t mind taping Atley and Hall in the tent where they went to show off the technical bake done correctly and to discuss who would be star baker — both were professionals, and they got the job done with a minimum of fuss. 

The bakers, on the other hand, could be a bit … emotional.

When Jack took the job running a camera for a baking show, he’d never expected so many tears.

“All right, bakers, we’re here for bread week,” Holster said. “You know what that means — you’ve gotta raise some dough. And when you do, give some to me, because they don’t pay me near enough.”

“The signature bake Alice and Rob have asked for is a freeform loaf,” Ransom said. “It can be any flavor, use any flour you want, but you may not use a tin to bake it. You have three hours and fifteen minutes.”

“Ready,” Holster said. “Set.”

“Bake,” Ransom intoned.

Jack sighed. Bread week always took forever, with the long rise times both the signature and the technical bakes. He watched as the bakers added yeast to liquids, mixed flour with salt, blended their liquids and flours together.

Soon enough, everyone was kneading, and that provided some good footage. Cait and Eric both went for the tried-and-true fold-push-rotate method; Chowder was doing something that didn’t seem to have any organization. Will looked like he was about to murder the baker in front of him, Derek, who had his dough by one end and was slapping it loudly, over and over again, on the surface of the bench.

Jack wasn’t sure what it was they were looking for, but soon enough everybody had put their dough in a bowl to rise, and most had put those bowls in their proving drawers. The tent started to grow fragrant as the bakers worked on the fillings they all seemed to think they needed to make an impression.

Jack privately thought someone who produced a well-baked round rye loaf should take full marks. That person would have no way to hide his mistakes.

Eric was using scissors to snip sun-dried tomatoes into tiny pieces. He also had basil and some cheese. 

Will seemed to be something similar, but his bench had prosciutto and provolone and some kind of peppers. Jack could also smell onions from the front of the tent, and he thought someone was using cranberry.

“No!” That was the baker called Ollie, with a bench right up at the front. “My dough hasn’t risen. I have to start over.”

Bittle shook his head minutely, whether in judgement or sympathy, Jack couldn’t tell.

“Tell us about your bread, Eric,” Holster was making the rounds with Atley, trailed by Tater.

“It’s called a pane bianco,” Bittle said. “When it’s done, it should be really garlicky and cheesy.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘pane bianco’ just means white bread in Italian,” Atley said. “What makes this special?”

“How good it tastes, I hope,” Bittle said, but he looked shaken. “The cheese and the garlic and such.”

Atley nodded in acknowledgement if not agreement, and moved towards Chowder.

Holster gave Eric a thumbs-up behind her back.

It turned out that Eric’s bread looked as good at is tasted, and he got good reviews. Chowder wasn’t so fortunate; he was criticized for how messy his pull-apart rolls looked.

Will was criticized too, but only because the judges thought his stromboli was too simple. They acknowledged that his flavors worked together well and his bake was perfect.

Ollie’s salt and peppercorn loaf was indeed under-proved and under-baked, the result of having to start over forty minutes into the challenge.

Ollie was directed to Jack for his post-challenge interview for the first time, and he was forlorn. 

“I must have had the milk too hot when I added the yeast the first time,” he said. “Rookie mistake. And then there just wasn’t enough time to come back.”

Chowder was philosophical.

“At least they thought my bread tasted good,” he said. “It could have been worse.”

Bittle’s ears were still pink with the praise he got, even though he was Jack’s last interview of the session.

“I practiced that bake at home a lot,” he said. “My team likes it, which helps, so I know how to make it look impressive when it comes out of the oven.”

When he was done, he gave Jack a curt nod and headed to the tent where the bakers would get lunch and, no doubt, speculate on what the afternoon’s technical bake would be.

“All right, bakers, our technical bake this afternoon is one of Alice’s recipes,” Holster announced when the group reassembled in the baking tent. 

“Alice, do you have any words of advice for our bakers before you head off to your line-dancing class?” Ransom asked.

“Good luck,” Atley said.

“That wasn’t really advice,” Ransom called as Atley and Hall left the tent.

“Well, at least she offered you good wishes. You are to make four identical baguettes from Alice’s recipe. You have two and a half hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack knew from filming the tent scene with Atley and Hall that Atley thought the secret was to put water in the oven. Something about steam and crust. He also knew that putting water in the oven was not in the instructions, and water was not among the ingredients listed in the recipe, since it didn’t actually go into the bread.

Looking at the benches, now that gingham cloths were removed, Jack saw remarkably few ingredients at all: yeast, flour, salt, a little oil.

Really, how far wrong could they go with that? 

Apparently plenty far, at least for the bakers who didn’t generally make bread. Mandy was trying to knead a gloppy mess, and Chowder seemed to think that the recipe — taking up less than a half-page of paper — would become clearer with staring at it.

Bittle and Cait both seemed confident as they added yeast to water and flour to liquid. Will was kneading with smooth, even strokes that, to Jack, indicated this was something he’d done many times before.

“Nowhere to hide with a baguette,” Will told Holster. “It’s as simple as simple can be.”

“But still quite difficult?” Holster asked.

“If you don’t know what you’re doing,” Will said.

Unlike most challenges, there wasn’t much for the bakers to do while their dough proved. Chowder spent most of his time chatting up Cait. It might have been annoying, but she didn’t seem to mind, and the other bakers mostly gave them indulgent smiles if they paid them any attention at all.

Derek Nurse was trying to ask Will questions, but Will didn’t seem to want to play along.

“You make a lot of bread at home?” Derek asked. 

Will shrugged.

“Bread’s not really my thing,” Nurse volunteered. “I like things that are a little … less plain, I guess.”

“Not all bread is plain.”

“This is,” Derek said.

“Yup,” Will said. “So they’ll be able to tell who knows how to bake instead of just making things look pretty.”

“Dude, chill,” Derek said.

Mandy was the first to remove her dough from the proving drawer. Jack saw it deflate as she turned it onto her bench with a thump. 

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t think that was good.”

Derek and Chowder started next, and Cait and Will. Bittle was was right behind them in pulling his dough out.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Mandy wondered aloud, holding up the linen cloth that had been included in the equipment for the bake. “Is this this couch?”

_Couche, _Jack wanted to say, but he kept quiet. The directions must have been sufficient for most of the bakers to figure it out, as they started laying their shaped loaves on the linen.

What they disagreed on was what shape those loaves should be. Some were so long and narrow they looked almost like breadsticks. Others were almost rectangular. Jack knew Alice always maintained that flavor was the most important thing, but that didn’t stop her from being a stickler for presentation.

There was another long period when there was nothing going on but dough slowly rising. Jack got footage of Ransom and Holster playing at cat’s cradle with a length of twine, Chowder doing deep knee-bends, and then, at the urging of Derek, the splits. It wasn’t Derek he looked to for approval, though. It was Cait, was giggling and blushing.

Maybe if Chowder didn’t win the competition, he’d still come away with a prize. Cait, too. They both seemed like nice people, among the nicest on a show that frankly looked for nice people as cast members. 

Jack supposed it wouldn’t be a problem as long as they didn’t help each other too much.

Will, on the other hand, sat stoically on a stool at his bench, not reacting to Derek, no matter how much Derek tried to get him to comment on Chowder’s flexibility or how hard it was to tell the one called Ollie and the one called Wicks apart.

Jack had watched Eric make a brief tour of the tent, speaking to the other bakers individually. The conversations weren’t much, from what Jack could hear, just brief comments on what Bittle had learned from the other bakers, or questions about their non-bake-off lives. 

Now he was back at his bench, checking on his dough every few minutes. 

Which probably meant things were going to get busy again soon.

The directions — which Mandy helpfully read aloud to Jack’s camera — said to dust the loaves with flour and slash the tops. Jack was fairly certain that didn’t mean upwards of a dozen cuts straight across the top of each loaf, which was how Mandy had interpreted it, but it wasn’t his place to interfere.

“Ouch!” Derek yelped from the front of the tent, and Jack saw a rivulet of blood sliding down his finger before Derek popped his finger in his mouth.

Foxtrot and the medics were there within seconds. Derek removed the injured finger from his mouth to say, “I’m fine. It’s chill.”

The medics, however, insisted on properly disinfecting the cut. Foxtrot made sure it was firmly covered with a watertight bandage before allowing him to continue slashing his loaves.

Will was shaking his head and mouthing “How?”

Then Ollie — yes, Ollie, the same one who had trouble with underproved bread in the morning — wailed, “They’ve blown up like balloons!” 

“Jack!” Chowder was signalling that he was about to put his bread in the oven.

Jack turned his attention back to his section, getting footage of Chowder, Mandy and Bittle all sliding their loaves in. 

Bittle paused with the oven door still open, eyes fixed on Will in front of him. Will was adding water to a pan in the bottom of his oven; Bittle quickly did the same.

Jack hoped the angle he had conveyed what happened. He knew it didn’t actually break any rules, but the bakers were discouraged from out and out copying from one another.

At the end, as Atley and Hall walked down the row of baguettes, Ollie was called out for overproving instead of underproving this time. Mandy was criticized for over-scoring, and Chowder’s loaves apparently resembled ciabatta. Derek’s were dredged rather than dusted with flour.

The top three, in order, were Will, Cait and Bittle, all of whom had produced technically proficient baguettes.

“It’s a little like the three little bears,” Ollie told Jack in the post-challenge interview. “One over-proved, one under-proved, so I guess the next one’s got to be just right.”

“If I can’t do bread, what am I doing here?” Will said, looking pleased with his victory all the same. “I sure don’t know pastry that well.”

“I guess I’ve been doing okay,” Bittle said. “But I think I can do better.”

As he turned his camera off, Jack said, “I saw what you did.”

Bittle pulled up.

“Saw what?”

“With the water,” Jack said. “You only did it because Will did.”

“Okay,” Bittle said. “What if I did? Part of the competition is learning from each other. And I had to take the shot that he was right.”

“It was a lucky shot,” Jack said.

Bittle walked away without another word.

“What’s wrong, Jackabelle? Up too early to frolic with the lambs?”

Shitty was shoving a mug of coffee in Jack’s direction.

“I think I screwed up,” Jack said. “Or Bittle did.”

“Eric, you mean? The bitty baker with the southern accent?” Shitty said. “You know fraternizing with the bakers is against the rules, right?”

“C’mon, Shits, you know me,” Jack said. “Not like that.”

“Like what, then?” Shitty said.

“Yesterday he didn’t know about the water in the oven thing,” Jack said.

“And you _told _him?”

“No,” Jack said. “Of course not. But he saw Will do it, and he copied him.”

“So?” Shitty said.

“Aren’t they not supposed to copy?”

“They can all see each other, brah,” Shitty said. “I think four used water and six didn’t. So Eric had a choice: use water or don’t. He picked the right one, at least from Atley’s perspective. And she’s the judge, so her perspective counts.”

“Anyway, I kind of told him off for it,” Jack said.

“Brah.”

“I know.

“Not your job.”

“I know. He just — he seems to get all the breaks, and he looked so full of himself.”

“Who?” Lardo walked up, cradling her own coffee.

“Bittle,” Jack said.

“He should be,” Lardo said. “He’s doing well. Better than we thought when we brought him in.”

“Jack tried to take him down a peg or three,” Shitty said.

“And I’m pretty sure he’s pissed off at me,” Jack said. “Can you change my section?”

“Fine,” Lardo said. “You get the middle. Switch with Johnson. And remember, it’s not on you to tell them what to do, or comment on what they have done. Right?”

“I know,” Jack said. “He just gets under my skin.”

“Is it going to be a problem?”

“No,” Jack said.

“Fine,” Lardo said. “Jack, you know we love you, but if this isn’t the right place for you ...”

“No,” Jack said. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be better.”

“Okay,” she said. “We have a long morning ahead of us.”

The Sunday bake was long — five hours for each baker to create a 3-D sculpture out of at least three different kinds of bread, with one of those kinds filled.

Moving to the center section meant he was focusing on Will and Derek, Cait and a baker named April, who had finished in the middle of the pack every weekend so far.

Bittle looked defiant as he came in to take his place, then confused when he saw Jack wasn’t in his usual position. Jack tried not to pay him any mind as he watched his four bakers get to work.

Will was baking something in a flowerpot, and then making a plant out of bread growing out of it. It looked like it would have to be just about perfect to not fall over.

Derek was making a sculpture of a tiger, using a dark bread for the stripes and a filled bread for the facial features. His diagram was complicated, but he seemed focused, muttering, “Tiger, tiger burning bright. Oh, please don’t burn.”

April was working on a basket and bread flowers, it looked like, and Cait — Was that a motorcycle? With rolled filled buns for wheels? That was ambitious. Jack made the rounds as the bakers mixed and kneaded and shaped and assembled and decorated.

It would have been impossible not to see the two just behind. Chowder had a snake coming out of a basket — how did he get bread that color? — and Bittle had a Thanksgiving cornucopia going, with all the fruits and vegetables made out of bread. But Jack couldn’t pay close enough attention to tell exactly what kinds of bread Eric was using, or which was filled, or what the filling was.

Not really his business, anyway.

“Bakers, this is your two minute warning!” Ransom said.

Jack focused on getting his bakers putting the finishing touches on their sculptures. Derek’s looked amazing, Jack thought, and Cait’s looked amazingly complicated. She even had a little bun in the motorbike’s basket.

“Hands up, bakers, and give me all your dough!” Holster yelled. “Well, not really, but put your sculptures at the ends of your benches please. Time’s up.”

Jack wasn’t the main camera for the judging, so he could sit back and watch.

Most of the bakers did all right, he thought. The judges did not like Mandy’s sculpture of an unmade bed. Too messy, they said, even though Hall was impressed with the way she got the blanket to fit the corner of the bed. Ollie’s was okay; only one of the breads was slightly overbaked.

They were thrilled with Will’s. Jack didn’t think it looked as impressive as Cait’s or Derek’s, but he wasn’t a judge. Bittle got high marks as well.

Jack noticed Bittle did not look in his direction when he carried his cornucopia up to the judging table, or when he carried it back. 

The judges spent an incredibly short time discussing the outcome before coming back. Will, to exactly no one’s surprise, took star baker. Derek actually got a special commendation from Atley for his sculpture. Mandy, who had become more and more of a nonentity as the competition progressed, went home.

Afterward, Jack found himself with Mandy, Chowder and Will for post-challenge interviews.

“I had so much fun making real food,” Mandy said. “But I guess it’s my turn now to just fade away.”

“This is really hella cool,” Chowder said. “I always thought I was a little weird for liking to bake so much, but there are so many great people here. I think that’s the best part.”

Jack saw his eyes wander to where Cait was talking to Johnson’s camera.

“Of course I’m pleased,” Will said. “I didn’t know how this was going to go, and like I said, making bread is my specialty. Even if Derek did get a special commendation for the way his looked. I guess that and $2.75 will get you a ride on the Boston subway.”

_Eric’s [pane bianco](https://www.kingarthurflour.com/recipes/pane-bianco-recipe)._

_[Baguettes](https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/pauls-baguettes-technical-challenge)._


	4. Episode 4: Tarts

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 3, Episode 3._

Episode 4: Tarts

Jack was prepared to go back to the middle section of the tent the next weekend. What he wasn’t prepared for was that, with a general redistribution of the bakers into three groups of three for taping purposes, the middle group now included Bittle.

“Sorry, brah,” Lardo said. “But we try to move them around a bit — we wouldn’t anyone getting the idea that the ones at the front are favored, or the ones at the back benefit from being able to see everyone else more easily. It’s just the way it worked out. You think you can treat him fairly?”

Jack nodded. “It’s not like I’m a judge,” he said.

“I know, but we need good footage of everyone,” Lardo said. 

Jack nodded again. It wasn’t lost on him that whatever he thought of Bittle, the camera loved him.

“Sure,” he said. “As long as he doesn’t have a problem working near me. I don’t think I’m a favorite of his, either.”

“He’ll do what he has to do to stay in the competition,” Lardo said. “Why don’t you like him, anyway? It’s not like you to just take a dislike to someone like that.”

Jack shrugged. “He just didn’t seem serious at the beginning,” he said. “Everyone else — they’ve been baking for years. He’s a college athlete; how committed can he be to baking?”

“Hockey, right?” Lardo said gently. “Is that the problem?”

Jack started to shake his head no reflexively, but stopped himself. Lardo was a good friend, she knew him well, and he should take her ideas seriously. When Jack had gone from hockey’s most promising prodigy to hockey’s biggest bust, he’d turned completely away from the sport that had once consumed him. He’d found photography first, then started doing video work. When Lardo invited him to shoot on the show, he’d found an unexpected sense of kinship with the bakers, who devoted so much of themselves to their passions. Sure, sometimes the frequency of their tears surprised him, but he respected the hard work.

He wasn’t jealous that Bittle played hockey. Just, there was no way he could bring the focus and passion to either hockey or baking that both of them required — at least not at the levels he was trying to do them. And he’d come in lacking self-confidence.

“He seemed like kind of a lightweight,” Jack finally said. “He didn’t think he deserved to be here, and I thought maybe he was right.”

“He deserves to be here,” Lardo said. “He had to submit baked goods and audition too, even if Johnson gave him a nudge. And I think he’s starting to get that.”

“If you say so,” Jack said.

“Good,” Lardo said. “Go get us some video of lambs frolicking. Or baby ducks. Baby ducks are cute.”

When the bakers walked into the tent and took their assigned places for the signature bake, Bittle looked Jack in the eye briefly before looking away, facing Ransom and Holster.

“Ready to make some sweet tarts, bakers?” Holster said. “Get it? Sweet tarts? Seriously, you are going to make some serious tarts. No pop tarts, though. When it comes to the judging, those would be flop tarts, amirite?”

Ransom gave a theatrical moan, and said, “Right. Bakers, you will start with a tarte Tatin. You have two and a half hours to produce your upside-down goodness.”

“Wait, upside down?” Holster said. “You mean they really are flop tarts?”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Bittle, now standing across from Ollie with Wicks behind him, had a relaxed look as he started heating butter and lavender together, then began peeling and slicing apples.

Wicks also appeared to be using apples for his tarte Tatin, as were at least half the bakers. Ollie, on the other hand, had figs and walnuts on his bench. 

Jack had eaten tarte Tatin before, and even though he’d never made one, he was pretty sure the distinguishing factor was that it was baked with the crust on top of the filling, and then inverted to serve. Kind of like an upside down cake, but with pastry. Given that, it seemed to make sense that a firm fruit — like apples, or maybe pears, like Will and Cait were using — would work best. But what did he know? He was just the camera operator.

Jack had footage of Bittle’s deft hands peeling apples, of Ollie stirring his sauce (was that pepper he was putting in?), of Wicks mincing ginger. Maybe the theme here should be herbs and spices?

Tater and Hall approached Ollie, Ransom trailing so he could ogle Tater, much to Ollie’s amusement.

“I’m doing a fig, walnut and pink peppercorn tarte Tatin,” Ollie said, still grinning at Ransom. 

Hall’s eyebrows went up a hair.

“Figs? That’s kind of an unusual choice,” he said. “And you’re sure the peppercorn won’t be overpowering?”

“I don’t think so,” Ollie said.

Jack watched them head to Bittle’s bench, where Bittle was rolling his pastry crust out. The sliced apples had been arranged in the bottom of a tart pan, and the sauce was in a pan on the stove.

“Going with the classic apple tarte Tatin, I see,” Hall said.

“Yessir,” Bittle replied, leaving the rolled-out crust to stir the sauce for a moment. “I’m using Granny Smiths because the caramel sauce is sweet, and I want to balance that out.”

“Just a plain caramel sauce?”

“No, there’s a bit of lavender in there.”

“Lavender can be tricky to work with,” Hall said. 

“I know,” Bittle said. “You want it to be subtle. I infused the butter with it before I made the caramel. And it makes a pretty garnish.”

“Indeed.”

In the end, the judges loved Bittle’s tart, with Atley saying it had just the right note of sophistication to add to its sweetness. Ollie’s did not fare as well, and neither did Wicks’.

“Ginger and apple generally go well together, but you’ve used way too much ginger,” Hall said.

Jack appreciated that Shitty steered Bitty away from him for the post-challenge interview. He did get Ollie, who said, “Fuck. I was already on the bottom. Wait, I can’t say that, can I?”

Jack motioned for him to keep going.

“Anyway, I really have to do well on the next two,” Ollie said.

At least he didn’t cry.

Shitty dropped into the chair next to Jack at lunch.

“Looks like our Bitty baker did all right,” he said. “He said his specialty was pie. I guess tarts are close enough.”

“You mean Bittle?” Jack said. 

“Yeah, cause he’s little bitty,” Shitty said. “And because he said that’s what his hockey team calls him. Lards talked to you this morning, right? You all good?”

“I’m a professional, Shits,” Jack said, almost holding a straight face. 

“‘Cause he said he doesn’t mind your camera all up in his business, as long as you keep your judgment to yourself,” Shitty said.

“I wasn’t judging him,” Jack said.

“Right.”

* * *

When the bakers reassembled and the judges were dismissed, Ransom said, “Most of you have at least heard of our technical bake. It’s Harry Potter’s favorite dessert: treacle tart. And the recipe is Rob Hall’s own, so do it up right, yeah? Be aware that a lattice top is part of the challenge here.”

“You have two hours,” Holster said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack watched his bakers as they pulled the gingham cloths off their ingredients and recipes and started to read.

Ollie and Wicks looked confused, but Bittle’s eyes lit up like they had when he saw the arlette recipe two weeks ago.

“This is just a chess pie that knows someone!” he said quietly. Then he turned on his oven, put a baking tray inside, and started making what looked like pie crust.

The other bakers also started with crust, so it seemed like that much was clear from the instructions.

Unfortunately, not all of them were as good at pie crust as Bittle seemed to be. Ollie made a mess of transferring his crust to the tart pan and had to patch up several tears. A couple of them — Bittle included — put the crust in the oven without the filling. Others didn’t.

“It didn’t say to blind bake the crust, but I always do it at home,” Bittle told Ransom.

“You’ve made this before?” Ransom asked.

“Not exactly,” Bittle admitted. “But something very similar. And the blind-bake helps you avoid the dreaded soggy bottom.”

Bittle’s skills shone again when it was time to weave the lattice top.

Bittle started quickly, but, after shooting a glance at Jack, slowed down and angled his body so Chowder and Derek, now behind him, could easily see what he was doing. They weren’t the only ones watching as Bittle lifted strips and placed them down, creating an even, open weave.

Jack saw Bittle take in the looks from around the tent, and then nod while he finished it off.

“Now it’s just a matter of getting it baked right,” Bittle said, putting the tart in the oven.

As Jack expected, Bittle took top marks in the technical, with Hall commenting that he might have made Bittle’s tart himself. It looked as though Bittle was going to be a force to be reckoned with, and Jack was going to have to eat his words to Lardo.

* * *

The next morning, Jack almost did a double take at the stock of ingredients set up on Bittle’s bench. There were milk and cream and eggs, flours and sugars, almonds, canned fruit, two containers of raspberries … the assignment, Jack knew, was to create a large fruit tart, fit for a window display, in under three hours.

The other bakers seemed to mostly have the standard baking ingredients, and lots of fruit.

Despite his success the day before, Bittle was … not calm. Not the way he had been for the first day of the challenge, at least. He was pale and a little wide-eyed standing at his bench. 

“Looks like you’ve got quite the job ahead of you,” Jack said, trying to break the ice. “Sure you haven’t bitten off more than you can chew?”

Bittle drew himself up to his full height — still at least half a head shorter than Jack — and said, “This is the showstopper. It wouldn’t do to go for something easy.”

At least he seemed determined, Jack thought.

Once the challenge was formally underway, Jack rotated among his bakers, making sure he provided a second angle on their interactions with the judges and hosts.

Ollie and Wicks seemed to work mostly in their places, with occasional trips to the fridge to chill custard or pastry. Will and Derek weren’t really Jack’s concern, but he saw them working fast as well, with Derek making a jam as well as custard and Will telling Marty’s camera that he hoped his tempered chocolate would keep its shine. 

Bittle, meanwhile, was working feverishly, barely slowing down when Holster and Atley visited with Tater.

“It’s a rose and lychee and raspberry tart,” Bittle explained, as he stirred chopped almonds into a caramel sauce and set it aside to dry.

“Then where do the almonds come in?” Atley asked.

“Some of them will be pushed into the crust — it’s a sweet rosewater crust — and under the lychee creme pat,” Bittle said. “On top of that will be raspberries glazed with jam, garnished with raspberry and rose mascarpone creme and macaroons, with the carmelized almonds on top.”

“So you’re making a crust, creme patissiere and creme mascarpone, jam, macaroons and caramelized almonds, all as components?” Atley asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bittle said. 

“Are you sure you’re going to finish?”

“I’m sure gonna try, ma’am,” Bittle said.

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” she said, moving on.

Jack was meant to pay equal attention to all his bakers, and he did his best. But neither Ollie (was he putting pepper in a tart _again?) _nor Wicks were doing anything half as complicated or interesting as Bittle. Besides, when Bittle started using a brush to paint warm jam onto individual raspberries before placing them on his tart, Jack was pretty sure everyone stopped to watch for at least a moment.

It was a narrow finish. Bittle was still sprinkling crushed caramelized almonds on top (“Gotta get that sparkle!”) when Holster called time, but he obediently put his hand down.

The judges must have known what they were doing when they called Bittle up last. Ollie’s was not a hit, though they didn’t dwell on it. Wicks’ was declared competent, but boring. Will’s chocolate did hold its shine, and his tart won praise.

When they got to Bittle, though, Hall held up the tart for the cameras and said, “This is what a display tart should look like.”

Then they cut into it, and Atley said, “And taste like.”

The ending was pretty much a foregone conclusion after that, with Bittle being named star baker and Ollie headed home.

When he was packing up his camera after interviews, Jack tried to catch Bittle’s eye. 

“Good job today,” he said. “You worked hard.”

“Thanks?” Bittle said, looked a little confused. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be judging me.”

_ [Lavender and apple tarte Tatin](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/lavender_and_apple_tarte_90753)_

_[Treacle tart](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mary_berrys_treacle_tart_28524) _

_ [Rose, lychee and raspberry tart](http://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/rose_lychee_and_69495) _


	5. Episode 5: Desserts

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 5, Episode 4_

Jack took a deep breath before settling next to Lardo in the craft tent.

“Can you put me with the judges today? Let Tater handle the middle of the tent?”

“Why?” Lardo asked. “You’re good at catching those small moments. Tater is … enthusiastic. He has a harder time staying out of the way.”

“Maybe because he’s like six-four?” Shitty said. “It is fun to watch Ransom get flustered around him. Is this still about Bittle? What bug crawled up your ass about him?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Jack said. “I’m trying. And he is a good baker — you were right. Maybe not to the level of some of the others. But he doesn’t like me. I tried to give him a compliment last week, and he acted like I was overstepping. I feel like I should just stay away from him.”

“Fine,” Lardo said. “We’re down to eight bakers. That means we can function with two cameras hanging around the tent, although they both have to be good to get enough of the background action. We’re moving Bittle up towards the front — he hasn’t been there yet. You stay at the back. Tater stays with the judges. Marty can take front.”

“What about Johnson?”

“He flaked,” Lardo said.

“Left a message about hiking the Appalachian Trail or something,” Shitty shrugged. 

“Sorry, dude,” Lardo said. “That means we need you in the tent the rest of the season.”

With the fifth row of benches removed, the tent was at least less crowded, Jack thought. It felt easier to breathe. Maybe that was because the sides were open today, letting the sun shine in and an occasional breeze to wander through. It was still early, but this looked like the first real hot weekend of the year.

Jack’s section had March, April and Cait, all of whom seemed to be good friends entering the second month of the competition.

Wicks was the fourth, tucked in the back corner. Jack knew he’d been close to the bottom; best keep a close eye on him this week as well.

Bittle was all the way at the front, as far from Jack as he could get. Will was next to him. Behind them were Chowder and Derek.

The bakers had settled in and checked their equipment and ingredients for the signature bakes before the judges and hosts appeared at the front.

“Welcome to dessert week, bakers,” Holster said. “For your signature bake, we are going to ask for eight individual self-saucing puddings.”

“That doesn’t mean they should talk back to you,” Ransom said. “Or get you drunk.”

“But if they do, that could be a plus!” Holster said.

“It means that the ingredients need to come together to form their own sauce while they bake,” Ransom said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack knew it would be a while before the judges got back to his section, so he concentrated on getting video of his bakers. March and April had similar dishes — strawberry and orange puddings for March and and orange and lemon curd something for April — and Cait was quick off the mark as well as she worked on her puddings. She was poaching whole pears, and it looked like there was a bottle of Belle de Brillet pear liqueur on her bench. Hall would like that.

Cait noticed Jack focusing on the bottle, and threw him a wink. Next to her, Wicks was doing something with molasses and corn syrup, flour and eggs.

Whatever it was, it was going to be awfully sweet.

Holster was approaching March with the judges, so Jack took himself out of the way, staying on Wicks as he filled his molds. When Ransom took over with the judges and approached April, Jack moved over to focus on Cait, who made sure he had a clear angle to shoot what she was doing as she placed the pears in each of the prepared baking cups.

“Going in the oven now,” she said, giving Jack time to come around the bench and get the shot.

Jack smiled his thanks, then almost laughed out loud at the way Ransom was pretending to fawn over Tater. 

Cait chuckled too, and then it was time for Jack to get out of the way as the judges moved to the back row.

Jack got footage of March and April peering into their ovens as they waited, but he also had time to look around the tent.

Bittle had done something with chocolate, as had Will and Derek. Chowder had pistachios on his bench. Derek was taking the extras and eating them, popping the nuts out of the shells, tossing them in the air and catching them in his mouth. Bittle and Chowder were laughing, but Will wasn’t amused.

“For chrissake, Derek, can you knock it off?” he said. “I don’t want you to ruin my fondants!”

Derek’s face fell for a split second, then it smoothed into an expression of unconcern.

“Chill, dude,” Derek said. “They’ll be fine.”

They were indeed fine, enough so that Will once again got the most praise. Will’s were black forest fondants with cherry; Bittle’s were chocolate and peanut butter puddings; Chowder’s were pistachio puddings with chocolate sauce. Derek’s were chocolate, lime and raspberry fondants, which Atley liked better than Hall did.

In the back half of the tent, March and April did fine. Cait won high marks, especially from Hall. Wicks was the only baker whose dessert seemed to be a wholesale disaster, with Hall saying, “It’s sticking to my teeth," and Atley saying, “That’s really very cloying.”

Jack made a point of tasting Cait’s and Will’s puddings at lunch. The pear was delicate; the black forest fondant was hearty. 

“Dude, try this,” Shitty said, holding out a fork. 

Jack took a bite. It must have been Bittle’s, and it was like a warm, melty Reese’s peanut butter cup. Not sophisticated, maybe, but it was tasty.

* * *

After lunch was the technical: two and a half hours to make Hall’s tiramisu cake.

It was a simple enough recipe, Jack supposed, which was made clear by the way all the bakers completed it with little trouble. Wicks’ cake was criticized for the messiness of his piped chocolate decorations (“Did you just dribble these on?” Atley asked), April’s taken to task for slightly overbaked sponges. Hall smacked his lips after tasting Cait’s, before saying that perhaps the baker had poured the brandy with too heavy a hand.

Will, to no one’s surprise, took top marks, with Cait second and Bittle third. Wicks was last, and clearly knew he was in danger.

“I was so pleased to make it this far,” he told Jack’s camera. “But I really don’t want to leave now.”

At least he didn’t cry.

After dinner in the craft tent, Jack headed to the hotel where the crew stayed to grab his skates. Maybe he didn’t play hockey anymore, but he still liked to skate for exercise and to clear his head. And after twelve hours in a tent on a 27-degree day, he wanted some time in a 10-degree rink.

But when he opened the door to the small community rink — one that was usually empty late Saturday evenings this deep into May — he wasn’t alone.

The lobby lights were off, and only about half the rink lights were on. A light mist rose a few inches off the ice, a product of the day’s heat and humidity.

Black figure skates were cutting through the mist, picking up speed as they circled the ice. Then they lifted off, above the mist, in a spinning jump.

And tangled as the body above them came crashing down.

Jack was shaken from his reverie by the fall.

“Are you okay?” he called, rushing towards the ice.

“Ow. Fuck, that hurts,” came the response. In a southern American accent. Bittle.

Bittle was up on hands and knees, but didn’t seem too eager to push to his feet.

“Seriously, are you okay? Do you need help?”

Bittle looked up.

“Jack? What are you doing here?”

“I came to skate,” Jack said. “Clear my head, cool off. Can you stand up?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Bittle said, finally coming to his feet. “Ripped my pants.”

First, Jack wasn’t sure he’d call the form-fitting black leggings “pants.” Second, Bittle’s knee, visible through the hole, was scraped and bleeding.

“Not just your pants,” Jack said. “I have a first aid kit in my car.”

“Of course you do,” Bittle said. “Don’t worry about it. I can make it back to the hotel. Let me get my skates off and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Bittle raised an eyebrow. “You said you came to clear your head. Pretty sure you wanted to be alone.”

Jack shrugged. “I usually am here. At least let me give you a Band-Aid.”

“Fine,” Bittle said, and winced as he sat on the bench to unlace his skates.

“I didn’t know you figure skated,” Jack said, as Bittle shoved his feet into slides and shuffled outside. “You said you played hockey.”

“I figure skated first,” Bittle said. “Not sure I can say I do anymore, after that.”

“Come on, you were good,” Jack said. “Until you fell.”

Bittle looked unimpressed.

“You must have fallen a lot before,” Jack said. “When you were learning. Just because you fell doesn’t mean you can’t do it. Here.”

Bittle put the Band-Aid over his scraped knee and looked up.

“Thanks,” he said. “For the Band-Aid.”

Jack threw his skates in the back seat.

“Get in the car,” he said. “I’ll take you back to your hotel. Shitty and Lardo would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

Bittle rolled his eyes.

“Well, if you insist.”

* * *

Bittle was walking without much of a limp the next morning, so Jack supposed he was fine. He’d told Lardo and Shitty about running into Bittle at the rink as soon as he got back to the crew hotel last night, and he knew they’d checked in with Bittle as well. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, while they waited for the judges to come in.

“I have to make a baked Alaska in a tent on an 85-degree day,” Bittle said. “But other than that, I’m fine. Embarrassed. But thanks, if I didn’t say it last night.”

“You did say it,” Jack said. “But you’re welcome.”

Then he took up his position with Wicks, March, April and Cait as they prepared to spend the next four and a half hours making their showstoppers.

March was making a raspberry swan, she said. April’s recipe included raspberry, lime and coconut, which seemed ambitious. Wicks was going for strawberry, including a strawberry jam center, and Cait was using a lot of almonds and almond paste.

Jack privately thought that that the strawberry or raspberry one would be best, but then, he always did prefer simple flavors.

“Shit!” Will swore loud enough for the whole tent to hear him. “This freezer isn’t cold.”

Will was looking around the back of the freezer, checking to see if it was plugged in. It was.

Foxtrot checked the rest of the freezers while Lardo called a brief timeout and gathered the bakers around her.

“There are still three working freezers,” she said. “You’re going to have to share them. There should still be plenty of room. Now back to it, everyone.”

Jack watched Bittle return to his bench. Bittle was turning his yellowish green ice cream out of the churn into a metal bowl. Will had set his ice cream in one of the working freezers and started his sponge, and Chowder wasn’t far behind.

Derek was swamped in a mass of ingredients. His bench didn’t have any fruit, it looked like, but there was coffee — and were those sesame seeds? — Jack had seen more than one baker try to impress by putting a gulf between themselves and tradition. Some succeeded, but more failed.

Jack knew Bittle wasn’t really his concern today, but he winced in sympathy when Bittle knelt to peer into the oven at his sponge, then stood, clearly favoring his injured leg, to start putting together the meringue. 

Derek was now wandering the tent, looking for a place to stow his (still very soupy) ice cream. The working fridge in the front didn’t have room, so he put it in one of the back refrigerators, shoving a couple of bowls further back to make it fit.

“Chill,” he said, apparently to himself. Or maybe to his ice cream.

“One hour left, bakers!” Holster’s voice boomed, a contrast to the nervous energy that was permeating the tent and making it feel even hotter.

“I really don’t know how this is going to work,” Cait said, whipping her meringue. “My ice cream was barely frozen, and now we have to stick it in the oven with meringue blanket on a day like today. It’s so humid I’m not even sure the meringue will come together.”

It did, and she piped it onto her ice cream and slid it back into the freezer.

Wicks rummaged in the other freezer, removing one bowl to get his out. He inverted the strawberry ice cream onto his cake and started piping meringue onto it.

“What the actual fuck!” 

Derek was staring at the table where Wicks had left the bowl. The bowl containing Derek’s not-really-frozen ice cream.

“I can’t use this,” he said, jiggling the bowl and watching the ice cream actually slosh over the edge. “Who took it out of the freezer?”

Wicks looked stricken.

“Shit. I had to move it out of the way,” he said. “I forgot to put it back. I’m sorry. But it was only like 30 seconds ago.”

It was longer than that, but not by much, Jack thought. Not long enough for the ice cream to go from solid to liquid.

“Oh, honey,” Bittle said. “What are you going to do?”

“What can I do?” Derek said. 

He inverted the bowl over his sponge, watched it splatter on the bench, and said, “There’s nothing I can do.”

Jack knew it was in Marty’s territory, but he couldn’t look away as Derek pushed the whole thing into the trash can. Jack barely turned in time to get the stricken look on Wick’s face as Derek stalked out of the tent.

“I’d give him mine if I could,” Wicks said.

“Dude, chill,” Will said, pulling ladyfingers off a baking sheet. 

The bakers subsided into silence as they finished their baked Alaskas.

Foxtrot was dispatched to retrieve Derek for the judging.

When it was his turn, he carried the trash can up to the judges.

“You oughtn’t have done that,” Atley told him. “If you’d brought your components up, we at least could have judged them.”

“I’m surprised at you losing your temper like that,” Hall said. “You’re normally so calm and laid back.”

Derek shrugged.

“I try to keep my temper from getting the better of me.”

The disaster would take the attention away from Will’s tiramisu baked Alaska, complete with ladyfingers around the edge, Jack knew. It also would mean a reprieve for Wicks, whose ice cream had melted and soaked his sponge, leaving a largely empty dome of meringue and giving new meaning to the phrase “soggy bottom.”

Will was philosophical.

“Kind of think I was the best of a bad lot,” he said. “It wasn’t a good day for baked Alaska. Too bad for Derek, though. I mean, he can be annoying, but he did have interesting ideas.”

Wicks was in tears, even though he was staying.

“It should have been me,” he said. “Mine would have been next worst, probably. Even if his didn’t set at all, they’d probably like the flavor better.”

Jack glanced over to where a dejected Derek was facing Marty’s camera. 

“I know it was my own fault, losing it like that,” he said. “If they could have tasted the ice cream, even if it wasn’t frozen … I guess I know better now.”

When Derek finished, Eric took his place.

“I’m just glad today is over,” he said.

_ [GBBO tiramisu technical](http://www.pbs.org/food/recipes/tiramisu-cake) _

_ [Mary Berry’s baked Alaska](https://www.pbs.org/food/recipes/marys-neopolitan-baked-alaska) _


	6. Episode 6: Chocolate

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 6, Episode 9_

Episode 6: Chocolate

This late in the spring, the sun rose early enough for Jack to spend a couple of hours shooting outdoors before he was needed in the tent. Spending some time following the creek through a meadow, getting images of tiny fish, wildflowers, geese and grazing horses was almost as good as going to the rink. Almost, but not quite.

Maybe Jack should talk to Bittle about whether he wanted to skate again. If he did, they could divide up the ice time. He should probably give Bittle first choice; Jack wouldn’t want anyone to think he was trying to sabotage everyone’s favorite baker.

Or maybe Bittle shouldn’t be skating during the competition? What if he really did hurt himself? He’d have to withdraw. 

Well. They had a chocolate day to get through before anyone had to worry about that. Jack had walked past the supply tent on the way in and seen trays of butter, stacks of packages of chocolate disks and chips, boxes of baker’s chocolate and tins of cocoa powder.

He wondered how many times tempered chocolate would break and how many bakers would cry. Of the group, Will seemed most comfortable using chocolate — his puddings had been chocolate, and he’d used it on his tart. Most of the others had avoided it, except sometimes as a decoration.

“Your signature bake this week is simple,” Ransom said. “You need to bake your best chocolate cake.”

“It can be any kind of chocolate cake,” Holster said, “using any ingredients you choose, as long as one of them is some form of chocolate. That chocolate must be in the cake itself, not just in the decoration. Although, for me at least, more is more when it comes to chocolate.”

“Ready, set …”

“Bake.”

Clearly, everyone in the tent had made chocolate cake before. No one hesitated or dithered. Some set to melting chocolate, others mixed cocoa powder with their dry ingredients. March was using coffee, so she must be going for a mocha cake.

Wicks had cocoa powder and sour cream for his cake; April had hazelnuts on her bench. Cait, it looked like, had gone back to the bar, with Kahlua and Bailey’s Irish Cream on her bench.

She saw Jack shooting her ingredients and grinned.

“What?” she said. “It evaporates in the baking. The stuff in the cake at least. Maybe not the frosting so much.”

When Ransom approached with Tater and Hall, he mimed sipping from the bottle, mugging even more when Tater chuckled.

“Are you trying to be Rob here’s favorite baker ever?” Ransom finally said.

“Wouldn’t hurt,” Cait said. “But no. This cake has been a favorite at 21st birthday parties and bachelorette’s.”

“What is it, exactly?” Hall asked. “Besides strong?” 

“It’s a mudslide cake,” she said. “The sponge has Kahlua and chocolate, and it’s really dense and flavorful. There’s some Bailey’s in the frosting that goes around the sides, and then it’s topped with chocolate ganache that drips down the outside of the frosting.”

“The mudslide effect?” Ransom said.

“Exactly,” Cait said.

Wicks seemed to be caught deep in the weeds already.

“What? There’s not enough batter,” he said, looking at his cake layers. “How am I supposed to do this?”

After another sigh, he put the pans in the oven and started making what looked like chocolate pudding.

The challenge came together so quickly that Jack couldn’t spend much time seeing what the bakers in the front of the tent were doing. When he did glance over, Marty seemed as swamped trying to keep up as Jack was. Even with seven bakers left, they could have used Johnson.

Bittle, once again, seemed close to overwhelmed, but he never quite tipped over the edge. He kept moving, traipsing from bench to fridge, stirring something on the stove and checking his bake.

Chowder was also in a hurry, but Jack saw him dump a bowl of ganache in the trash can and start over, so that might have something to do with it.

Will, on the other hand, was taking his time, almost as relaxed as if he was baking at home. Must be a familiar recipe.

That turned out to be the case. Will’s German chocolate cake — which was pronounced delicious, if not very exciting — was his mother’s favorite birthday cake, and was one of the first things he learned to bake. 

Chowder’s Black Forest was slightly more ambitious, and slightly more slapdash in presentation. 

Bittle’s bake was a Ding-Dong cake, based on the lunchbox dessert. 

“So a Ding Dong is essentially a chocolate-covered cupcake filled with sweetened artificial whipped cream,” Hall said. “This is not that.”

“Well, the whipped cream is real enough,” Atley said. “Even if it didn’t quite set. And this ganache on top — that’s got salted caramel in it. It’s quite tasty, but it could have used maybe a little more time to chill.”

March and April’s creations were both judged competent. Hall indeed liked the mudslide cake; the surprising thing was that Atley liked it, too.

When it came time for Wicks’ cake, Jack wanted to groan with him. It looked messy and unfinished.

“I was making a blackout cake,” he said. “It’s normally got chocolate pudding on the outside and is covered in chocolate cake crumbs.”

“But there are no crumbs,” Atley said. “And the pudding looks a mess.”

Hall took a bite, and said, “Is it supposed to have the consistency of a brownie?”

“Not really,” Wicks said. “But I think I didn’t add enough flour, so the layers didn’t bake up big enough for me to make the crumbs. And the texture is pretty dense.”

“But it doesn’t taste bad,” Atley said.

That was the kiss of death, Jack knew. When Atley was telling you it wasn’t as bad as it seemed, it was always worse.

“Okay,” Wicks told Jack’s camera. “I have to really kick it into gear now and have a good technical and a crazy good showstopper. Because if I don’t, I’m pretty sure I’m going home.”

Both March and April pronounced themselves satisfied with their efforts.

“To be honest, this is way further than I thought I’d get,” March said.

Marty had both Chowder and Cait lined up for post-challenge interviews, and with the way each kept complimenting the other, it was running long. Shitty nudged Jack, raised his eyebrows at Bittle, who was still waiting for Marty, and said, “You okay with that?”

Jack nodded.

“Bitty!” Shitty called. “Jack can take you now if you don’t want to wait out the lovefest over there. Get done in time to have some lunch.”

Bittle shrugged, and headed over.

“It didn’t come out as well as when I did it at home,” he said. “Maybe the freezer isn’t as cold here. I don’t know. I know if there wasn’t a time deadline I would have left it for a few hours at least. But I think the judges liked it anyway.”

Jack wanted to ask why he tried something that he knew needed more time, but he kept his mouth shut this time.

* * *

When the bakers and judges filed in to start the technical, Jack had been forewarned to keep the camera on the contestants as Ransom and Holster told them the twist to this challenge.

“Because this technical challenge is so fast, we’re going to stagger your start times,” Holster said. “Christopher, Caitlin, please stay at your benches.”

“The rest of you, join Rob and Alice outside the tent, please,” Ransom said.

“You’re not making this any less nerve-wracking,” Caitlin said from behind the last bench on the right, but no one responded.

“All right,” Ransom said. “You are going to be making chocolate souffle. You have one hour and fifteen minutes. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Both bakers pored over what looked like less than a half-page of instructions. Then again, it was only an hour and fifteen minutes; how complicated could it be?

Plenty, apparently.

“This doesn’t really tell me anything,” Cait said, frowning at the recipe. “I mean, it’s step one, make chocolate creme patissiere. Seriously.”

Chowder was already putting milk and vanilla in a saucepan.

“Here goes nothing,” he said. “I have never, ever made a souffle before. Maybe I should have.”

The two of them were still working on their creme patissiere and meringue when April and March came in and took the two benches in front of Chowder and Cait.

Jack couldn’t tell if they knew the challenge from watching the other two, but Ransom and Holster went through the spiel again. March and April both looked at the recipe, wearing twin expressions of confusion. Much like Chowder and Cait, they exchanged a dubious look and pulled out saucepans.

Even with Marty also shooting, it was difficult to make sure they got all the bakers at each important stage of the bake. It didn’t help that the souffles were supposed to be in the oven for 45 to 50 minutes of the 75-minute bake, pushing all the activity into about 25 minutes. During that time, the bakers had to make their creme patissiere and their meringue, combine them, make a parchment collar for their souffle dishes and get everything in the oven.

Minutes after April and March started, Chowder and Caitlin slid their meringues into the oven. That gave Jack and Marty time to focus on the two women — at least until Will and Bittle came in, taking the benches just in front of March and April.

Both groaned when Holster told them the challenge, and, much like everyone else, stared at the printed recipe like they thought there would be more information if they only looked hard enough.

Jack caught Will looking at the saucepan in his hand and muttering, “I can’t remember how to make a fucking creme pat.”

He noticed Jack’s camera and said, “Sorry.”

Jack shook his head in a way he hoped communicated “No worries.” They could bleep it out.

“Let’s hope muscle memory takes over,” Will said, pouring milk in the pan.

Maybe it was muscle memory, but once Will started, he seemed to find a groove. Jack turned away to get March putting her souffle in the oven, then back to get Will starting his meringue.

At the next bench, Bittle had his stand mixer whipping his meringue while he stirred his creme pat. He didn’t look happy, but Wicks was about to come in, so Jack couldn’t pay much attention.

He could see it on Marty’s tape later.

Jack fully expected Wicks to have a meltdown at his bench, given the way his last few bakes had turned out. But when Holster said the words “chocolate souffle,” Wicks broke into a broad grin.

“I actually practiced this,” he said. “I asked my mom what’s chocolate and hard to make, and she said a souffle, and I figured I’d give it a go, just to give myself confidence. I honestly didn’t believe it would actually come up.”

Wicks started by putting chocolate in a bowl set over a saucepan, then started heating his milk.

As soon as he started, Jack turned back to Will, who was carefully folding the meringue into his creme pat.

“I don’t think this is going to rise,” he said. “The creme pat is too thin. But I can’t do anything about it now.”

Jack chanced a glance at Bittle, who was still trying to combine his two mixtures. He looked like he was near tears.

“I should have paid more attention,” he was saying. “This is not going to work. But I can’t do it again, so. Ugh.”

Wicks was still putting his together — “It rises better if you run something around the inside before it goes in the oven.” — when Chowder and Cait’s came out. The judges were seated at the front of the room, their backs to the bakers, and Ransom and Holster delivered the finished dishes.

Both looked good to Jack, but Atley said both should have risen more. Chowder’s also had a few white flecks of meringue, according to Hall.

Fifteen minutes later, Ransom and Holster delivered March and April’s. April’s was a bit lopsided but tasted good; March apparently could have used another minute or two in the oven.

Then it was time for Will and Bittle.

Will’s looked similar to the others, only maybe not as high. Bittle’s … well, even Jack could see the big white spots where the meringue had not been incorporated. Bittle turned his back and did not watch the judges take a bite.

Finally, Wicks’ souffle came out, and Atley pronounced it nearly perfect. “I might have made it myself,” she said.

No one looked more surprised than her when Bittle came in last and Wicks came in first.

“I live another day,” Wicks said afterward.

Will shook his head. “I never thought I’d have to do that,” he said. “I’m glad it’s over.”

Jack hurried to catch Bittle before he got in the van to go back to the hotel. He’d stopped crying, but his eyes were still red and puffy.

“Are you skating tonight?” Jack said. “If you want, I could give you a ride to the rink.”

“That’s nice,” Bittle said. “But I’m kind of tired. I think I’m just gonna turn in.”

“Might do you good to clear your head,” Jack said.

Bittle shrugged. “Or I could fall on my ass and not be able to bake tomorrow, and the way this day is going, which is more likely? This is the thing I was supposed to be good at, Jack.”

“Souffles?”

“Baking,” Bittle said. “All my life, people have been telling me all the things I can’t do, but no one ever said I couldn’t bake. Shouldn’t bake, sure, but not that I couldn’t. And I was so scared to put that to the test, because if it turned out I really couldn’t, and I’d just been fooling myself all along … “

He sniffled.

“But you’re baking with some of the best amateur bakers in the country,” Jack said. “Just being on the show … of course you can bake. And it’s already week six, and you’re still here. I think we’re a long way past the idea that any of you can’t bake.”

“That’s … unexpectedly kind of you,” Bittle said. “But I think I’m going to take a pass on embarrassing myself any further today.”

When Jack hauled a bucket of pucks and a net onto the ice an hour later, he found himself wishing Bittle had come. He didn’t have to shoot; they could just skate. Maybe he could tell Bittle that it was possible to fail at the one thing you were good at, the one thing that everyone expected you to succeed at, and still come out the other side.

Maybe it was better if he didn’t. Bittle hadn’t failed, after all. Even if he was dismissed from the show tomorrow, he wouldn’t be a failure, not the way Jack had been. Now Jack spent his time making images of a bucolic paradise and the bakers that used it as a backdrop to create their masterpieces. Also, though, Jack had his anxiety mostly under control. He had good friends. He didn’t have to worry about losing everything he worked for because of a bad hit or a freak injury. It was a good life.

* * *

“Good morning, bakers, and welcome to showstopper day!”

Ransom was chipper the next morning.

“Today you are going to make a chocolate centerpiece,” Holster said, even more energetic than Ransom. “It must be three-dimensional, it must incorporate white chocolate, and it must have a biscuit feature.”

“You have four hours on the clock,” Ransom said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack conscientiously got footage of Wicks, March, April and Cait as they baked biscuits and cakes, mixed ganache and molded chocolate into tubes. Wicks was making a carousel, complete with white chocolate horses, using puffed rice mixed with chocolate as a sculpting material because it was lightweight.

March was making a whole chocolate village, with houses made of chocolate cake with chocolate biscuit roofs. April was doing a chocolate mountain. “I thought of doing a chocolate fountain,” she said. “But more chocolate is always better, right? And a mountain is better than a fountain.”

Jack actually really liked Cait’s effort. The main piece was chocolate cake decorated to look like a mug of hot chocolate, with white chocolate ganache made to look like whipped cream melting into the dark chocolate ganache surface. The whole thing was presented on a plate made from biscuit dough, with a couple of oversize chocolate chip cookies for good measure.

“Yep, definitely my favorite,” Holster said, snagging one of the dozen chocolate chip cookies Cait had left over.

As interesting as those were, Jack couldn’t help sneaking peeks at the benches in the front of the room. Chowder was making a sculpture of a bell tower that stood maybe 70 centimeters off the worktop. Will was making a well, including a bucket that would actually draw up a serving of white chocolate malted milk. 

Bittle’s was maybe the most different. He had regular chocolate and white chocolate, of course, but he also had green and yellow modeling chocolate. He had sculpted an alligator out of puffed rice and marshmallow, and was using the modeling chocolate to cover it in a semi-realistic gator skin. The gator’s tail was curled around a nest made of caramel and chocolate weeds, which was filled with white-chocolate covered biscuits shaped like eggs.

“People think of gators in Florida, but we have them in Georgia, too,” Bittle explained to Ransom. “Once I was on a hunting trip with my daddy, and we were walking down an embankment with water on both sides, and this gator was laying across the whole thing, just sunning itself. We just had to stand there and wait for it to move along. Anyway, gators kind of remind me of home.”

It was a risk, Jack thought. Bittle had followed the instructions, but his creation was nothing like any of the others, from its color scheme to its organic rather than manufactured shape. It didn’t have the height of Chowder’s piece, the gee-whiz technical aspect of Will’s or the folksy charm of Cait’s. But it was eye-catching.

The judges loved Cait’s mug and liked March’s and April’s efforts. They praised the scale of Chowder’s, but said it should have been neater. They were thrilled with Will’s well, especially once he demonstrated the bucket mechanism worked.

“My only issue with it,” Atley said, “is it’s a bit plain. You spent so much time waiting for the chocolate to set in the molds that you didn’t have time to do much decoration.”

That wasn’t the issue with Wicks’ carousel. No, that looked fine, until Hall tried to cut into it and the puffed rice canopy collapsed. Atley took a bite and uttered the sentence that Jack knew spelled trouble for Wicks: “It doesn’t taste good.”

They judged Bittle’s sculpture last. 

“This looks amazing,” Hall said. “I like the way you got the mottled color for the skin.”

They took a slice from the tail, and Atley commended on how beautifully the chocolate and puffed rice mixture held together.

“And it tastes good,” she pronounced.

Jack knew then that it would be Wicks going home. Later, after they announced that Bittle was star baker and made him turn pink to the roots of his hair and confirmed that Wicks would go no farther, Jack prepared to tape the bakers’ final comments.

“I knew this week would probably be the end of the line for me,” Wicks said. “I guess I kind of hoped, after the technical … Oh, well. At least I placed first there.”

“I just loved Cait’s mug,” Chowder said. “It was really clever. And she didn’t have crooked piping, like me.”

“I didn’t even add peppermint schnapps to the cake,” Cait said. “Although I thought about it. I’ve got to keep on Rob’s good side!”

Bittle once again did his interview with Marty, but he approached Jack before he left.

“I wanted to say thanks,” he said. “For the pep talk. I know you don’t like me much, and to say that anyway … well, it was nice of you.”

He was gone before Jack could say, “But I do like you.” Which was just as well, because then he’d have to explain his earlier misgivings, and how Bittle’s work had impressed him, and it wasn’t his job to like any of the bakers anyway.

So it was probably better this way. 

_Bitty’s [Ding Dong cake](https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/salted-caramel-ding-dong-cake-51118070)_

_ [Chocolate souffle](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/hot_chocolate_souffle_95703ar) _


	7. Episode 7: Pies

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 2, Episode 5_

With six bakers left, Jack found the tent rearranged once again. There were three rows of two benches each. Bittle was now in the middle row, at the bench nearest Jack. Cait was in front of him and April was behind him.

Chowder was next to Cait in the front. Jack was certain that was no accident; Shitty said Lardo said people would find Chowder’s crush cute. Jack had rolled his eyes, because that wasn’t what the show was about, but hadn’t argued. For one thing, he was pretty sure Cait had just as much of a crush on Chowder. She just wasn’t as obvious about it. For another, Jack knew he wasn’t the best judge of what would draw the audience in.

March was next to Bittle in the second row, and Will was in the last row next to April. Jack would be covering Bittle and Cait and Chowder; Marty had March and April and Will.

Lardo hadn’t so much asked Jack if he was okay with the arrangement as told him that she’d asked Bittle, who had said he didn’t care either way. She also hadn’t told Jack not to screw up again, but she didn’t have to. Jack would just have to treat Bittle like every other baker.

Bittle looked eager to start today, which Jack supposed was good. He remembered Johnson had said something about his pies back at the beginning of the season; he must be feeling confident.

Chowder was grinning ear to ear at Cait, asking how her week had been.

“How many times did you practice your bakes?” he asked. “I’ve never been good with pie crust, so I tried over and over again. I think I have it down now.”

“I had kind of a busy week at work,” Cait said. “But I made time to do each of them at least a couple of times.”

“What about you, Bitty?” Chowder had turned around to draw Bitty into the conversation. 

“Oh, a few times,” Bittle said. “But my MooMaw taught me to make pie crust when I was about five, so it was more just refining the recipes.”

Chowder’s grin faded, and Bittle hurried to reassure him.

“I never know what’s going to impress the judges, though,” he said. “You’ll do just fine, hon.”

“All right, bakers, welcome to pie week,” Holster said.

“Even though it’s nowhere near March 14,” Ransom said.

“No math jokes,” Holster said. “I was promised no math.”

“Fine,” Ransom said. “For your signature bake, you are each going to produce a family-size savory pie. You have two and a half hours. Ready, set, bake.”

Jack moved around his section of the tent, getting Cait putting a whole chicken in to boil before she started her pastry. Chowder was doing his pastry first, but it looked like he was using a lot of vegetables and … Jack was pretty sure those were crawfish tails.

Bittle had made quick work of putting together his pastry. By the time Jack turned his camera toward Bittle’s bench, he was wrapping two disks of dough, one significantly bigger than the other, in plastic. Jack’s lens followed him to the fridge and back. Bittle then set a skillet on the burner, added a chunk of butter, and began dicing an onion impossibly quickly.

Jack kept the camera on him until he added the onion and minced garlic clove to the pan. Then Jack turned to Chowder and Caitlin, both of whom were now chopping vegetables like their baking lives depended on it.

When he returned to Bittle, he smelled cinnamon and cloves in addition to garlic and onion, along with pork and beef browning.

“Is that going to be a tourtiere?” Jack asked.

Bittle seemed to take that as a prompt rather honest curiosity, because he started talking about how tourtieres were a French-Canadian holiday tradition (which, yeah, Jack knew) and how the trick was to balance the sweet and savory seasonings with the flavor of the meat, and to use the potato to soak up enough liquid from the filling so you didn’t get the dreaded soggy bottom.

Jack thought the potato was just there to taste good.

Ransom was coming around with Atley, Tater in tow, so Jack stepped back towards the front row.

“I’d know that smell anywhere,” Ransom said. “How did you decide on a tourtiere?”

“Well, I met some Canadians when I started playing hockey in Massachusetts,” Bittle said. “And one of them went on and on about it, so I figured I’d give it a try.”

Jack pulled his attention away, getting Chowder rolling out his pastry. He was right; he wasn’t very good at it. He had to repair a couple of tears before he even transferred it to his pie plate.

Cait was having better luck, and her chicken pot pie filling also smelled delicious. Honestly, all three of the bakers he was covering seemed to be doing fine.

All three ended up getting good comments from the judges. So did Will’s cockaleekie pie. March and April did not fare as well, with soggy pastry for March and a burned top crust for April.

Jack found himself really hoping he could snag a piece of Bittle’s tourtiere at lunch, even if it was weird to eat it in the spring.

* * *

“And now for something completely different,” Holster said, welcoming the bakers back for the technical challenge. 

“But we can’t tell you what it is until Rob and Alice leave us,” Ransom said. 

“This recipe is one of Alice’s, so any words of encouragement? Advice?” Holster said.

“Be patient,” Alice said.

“That’s what you always say,” Holster said.

“Excellent,” Ransom said. “Now off you go.”

Once the judges were out of the tent, Ransom continued.

“Today you will be making six individual poached pear mini-pies,” he said. “You have two hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack experimented with getting overall shots as the bakers read over the provided recipe and checked their ingredients and equipment. He couldn’t get all six in from the front, or rather, not so the ones in the back were in any kind of focus. He could get all three of his in from the side.

Bittle was first to tip flour into a bowl and start grating butter and lard into it.

“They key to this is going to be having enough time to make sure nothing is too hot when you put it together,” he said. “So getting it going quickly is going to matter. Well, that and not overworking the pastry. Poaching the pears looks simple enough.”

Bittle’s experience with pastry crust was clear, as he had his resting in the fridge minutes before anyone else. Will was second, Jack was pretty sure, followed by Cait.

Bittle had his liquids heating and was peeling his pears first as well, and now Chowder was openly watching him, turned completely around from his own bench. Bittle didn’t seem to mind.

Cait was forging ahead on her own, behind Bittle and ahead of Will.

Once the pears were simmering, the bakers pulled out their pastry for more rolling and turning. Then it was back to the syrup once again.

“It’s going to be really important to make sure these aren’t overdone, or they’ll just kind of fall apart, I think,” Cait explained to Holster as she prodded her pears with a fork. “Is that soft enough? Too soft? I think it’s okay.”

She removed her pears from the liquid with the slotted spoon, turned the heat up, and pulled her pastry out for another roll and fold.

Bittle, whose pears had gone in just before Cait’s, pulled them out just after her. He dipped a spoon in the liquid in the pan, tasted it, and added just a bit more orange zest.

“It was a really big orange,” he said to Holster. “I didn’t want to put all the zest in until I knew what it was going to taste like.”

Once the syrup was boiling again, he too turned his attention back to his pastry. He put it back in the fridge and said, “Now we have to give that time to get chilled again. And the pears are still too hot to core.”

So he perched on his stool and frankly watched the bakers around him. Chowder was just getting his pears out of the pan. Cait was using a small spoon to dig the cores out of her pears, but she seemed to be having a hard time holding them still.

Bittle turned to look at the bakers behind him, and his jaw literally dropped. March, directly behind him, was pulling pear slices — not whole pears — from her saucepan. Marty, of course, had seen what was happening and was keeping his camera on her, waiting for her to realize her mistake.

“Now it says I have to core the pears,” she muttered. “Wait. Core the pears?”

A swift glance around the room showed her five sets of peeled whole pears.

“Oh my God,” she said. “What have I done? I just assumed … I guess I’m going to have to try to put them back together in the pastry.”

April spared her a sympathetic look. Will shook his head. Bittle just turned off the heat under his syrup and carried the pot straight to the refrigerator, where he put the syrup in as he took his pastry out.

“Just for a couple of minutes,” he said. “If it’s too hot, it won’t hold the pastry strips together.”

Chowder quickly did the same thing.

Jack could see what he meant once the bakers started wrapping their pears. Cait was having a hard time keeping her dough neat; it wanted to slip down the sides of the pears, and when she tried to use the syrup to connect her dough strips, they just pulled apart. Of his three bakers, Bittle was by far the neatest in his wrapping. He was also the fastest.

Once his pies were in the oven, he turned to the bench behind him. 

“Can you use an extra hand?” he asked.

March, who was cursing herself and her pears under her breath, nodded.

“Just, can you hold those pear wedges together while I wrap them?” she asked. “I don’t know why I thought we were going to make hand pies. And none of them will have a stem.”

“They can still taste good, right?” Bittle said.

Marty was staying with March, so Jack made sure he got the other four bakers sliding their trays into the oven. Will set his timer and sat on his stool with a cup of coffee; April sat on the floor and watched her pears bake. Chowder peeked at Cait’s, then at his own.

There was a general movement to get the pies out of the oven when Ransom gave the five minutes alert. All of them, except March’s, looked all right, Jack thought. Bittle’s were the best looking. Jack could admit that to himself. He didn’t even think he was being partial. Which was odd, because he didn’t know when he had become partial to Bittle, but he had.

At least Bittle was studiously neutral, if not actually cool, toward him. That would make it easier not to show favoritism, he supposed.

To no one’s surprise, March came last. Bittle came first, with Hall praising the amount of citrus in the syrup. “There are some here where you can’t even taste it, and some where it’s almost overpowering,” he said. “And you had everything nice and cool when you put this together. That’s why it held up so nicely.”

Bittle beamed and accepted the congratulations of his fellow bakers.

“I would have been lost without you on this one,” Chowder said.

To Jack’s camera, March said, “I can’t believe I made such a dumb mistake. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine. Everyone was so nice. Eric especially. But I really wanted to do well.”

Jack skated alone that night again. He’d tried to catch Bittle before the van left for the bakers’ hotel, but he never saw him. Later, leaving the staff hotel with his skates and stick, he was waylaid by Shitty.

“You’re not hoping to run into a certain diminutive baker at the rink again, are you?” Shitty asked.

“What? No,” Jack said. He’d planned to see if Bittle wanted a ride to the rink, but when he couldn’t talk to him, he figured Bittle wasn’t planning to skate. Of course, if Bittle did show up, Jack would be happy to share the ice with him. It was a public rink, after all.

“No,” Jack said again, wondering why Shitty was giving him a suspicious look.

“You won’t,” Shitty said. “Lardo had me remind him that he is not to have any contact with staff members outside of what is necessary for the show, and outside the view of the rest of the staff. Otherwise, it might look like we were playing favorites.”

“But — “

“I know, I know, you don’t think he’s even qualified to be here,” Shitty said. “Or you didn’t, at the beginning. And if he really wasn’t qualified — if this was like week 2, and it looked like he was going to crater soon? Then I doubt it would be a big deal. But things are getting serious now, brah.”

“No, I know,” Jack said. “If it makes a difference, neither one of us expected the other one to be at the rink last time.”

“Lardo knows that,” Shitty said. “He’s not in trouble. But now that he knows the rink is a place you hang out, he knows to avoid it. To stick close to the hotel, actually.”

“Why him and not me?” Jack said. “He’s under a lot more pressure, and if he needs to clear his head …”

“You were here first,” Shitty said. “And you’ll be here after he’s gone. And, as well as he’s doing, it’s not like we’re short of bakers. We do actually have to send one home every week. Whereas, what with Johnson fucking off, we are short of people who can shoot this thing. It’s more your head that Lardo is worried about.”

Crap. Throwing a fit about Bittle early in the season probably didn’t help.

“I’m fine,” Jack said. “Really.”

“If you say so, brah,” Shitty said. “Enjoy your skate.”

* * *

The next morning, Jack took up his position next to Bittle and waited for the judges and hosts to come in.

“I missed you at the rink last night,” he said. 

Bittle looked at Jack, and then away. “Shitty said I couldn’t —”

“I know,” Jack said. “He told me. I’m sorry. I offered to stay away so you could skate, but —”

“No, I’m supposed to stay at the hotel with everyone else,” Bittle said. “Where all I can do is think about baking. Which normally would be good —”

“Welcome, bakers, to your pie showstopper challenge,” Holster said.

“The judges would like you to make something that is recognizable as a classic American pie,” Ransom said. “But no driving Chevys to levies or anything like that.”

“It can be a fruit pie, a cream pie, whatever you like,” Holster said. “And you can jazz up the flavors to make it stand out.”

“But — and this is important,” Ransom said. “It must be beautiful. How you do that is up to you.”

“What we’re saying is that just piping a bit of whipped cream around the edges isn’t going to do it,” Holster said. “Or a plain crust with just a couple of crooked slits in it. Execution here matters. If, y’know, you don’t want to be executed.”

“You have three and a half hours,” Ransom said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack took his time getting establishing shots of Chowder and Cait, both weighing flour and butter for their shortcrust pastry.

Chowder had a basket of peaches on his bench and Cait had a carton of small yellow limes.

“I’m doing a classic peach pie,” Chowder said. “I have a plan for the top — I’m going to cut out letters spelling ‘peach’ and layer them on the top.”

“I know key lime pie traditionally has a graham cracker crust, but there’s no way I can make my own graham crackers,” Cait said. “And I don’t think the judges will give me points for pressing cracker crumbs and melted butter into a pan. So shortcrust it is.”

By the time Jack got to Bittle, he was wrapping his dough in plastic and putting it in the fridge.

He returned to the bench and began peeling MacIntosh and Granny Smith apples.

“I’m going with the all-American classic,” Bittle said. “With a Canadian twist, so it's not too similar to my tarte Tatin.” 

Bittle nodded at the bottle of real maple syrup he’d used for his cookies weeks ago. “Maple works really well with the apples, the nutmeg, and the cinnamon. I just have to use tart apples because it’s so sweet.”

Bittle laced the peeled and sliced apples liberally with the syrup. “This will taste good, but it’s really nothing spectacular. I’m hoping my latticework will be enough to make the difference.”

Next to Bittle, it looked like March was going for a lemon meringue pie. Dex had a pumpkin pie going, and April was making a blueberry filling.

The bakers were all moving on to rolling out their crusts. Cait and April were hurrying more than the others.

“I really need to blind bake this first,” Cait said, sliding her crust in the oven. “Otherwise it will get soggy. And I need to make some macarons that I can decorate to look like limes for the top, so it’s not too plain.”

“Are you going to be able to get that all done in the time allotted?” Hall asked, looking doubtfully at her bench.

“I”ll have to, won’t I?” Cait said.

When they moved on to Chowder, Atley picked up his box of letter-shaped cookie cutters.

“Did you buy these?” she asked.

“Yes,” Chowder said. 

“You know we prefer you to do your own work,” she said. 

“I know,” Chowder said. “But there’s no way I could make those. And if I tried to do the letters freehand, they’d be messy. I figured it would be worth it.”

“I hope so,” Atley said.

By the time they reached Bittle, he’d draped his bottom crust in the pie plate and his filling was in a bowl next to it, waiting to go in.

He was cutting what would be the top crust into what looked like dozens of narrow strips, using a ruler and an exacto knife.

“This is a maple-apple pie,” he said. “Something that maybe Ransom here would appreciate — a Canadian twist on an American classic.”

“And what have you got going there?” Atley asked. “It should be more complicated than a simple weave, and it looks like it is.”

“It is,” Bittle said. “The only thing that’s worrying me about it is that it takes some time to do, and I don’t want the filling sitting in the shell and making it soggy while I do this. So I’m going to try to do it on here and transfer it over.”

“Good luck with that,” Atley said.

“And good choice on the maple,” Ransom added.

Jack went back and forth for a time between Bittle and Chowder. Cait’s pie was in the oven, and her macarons were ready to go in. Chowder was making an effort to get the letters to spell ‘peach’ over and over again, without lining them up exactly. 

Bittle, meanwhile, had braided his strips together to form a small circle, and then extended them out in an overlapping pattern. The ends were finished in a braid around the outside of a larger circle that looked like it would be the edge of the pie.

He poured the filling into the shell, leveled it out, and took a deep breath and looked at Jack’s camera.

“My hope here is that this dough will be just sticky enough to cling to the plastic wrap long enough to get it flipped over, but not sticky enough to mess up the whole design. Wish me luck.”

Then he covered the top with plastic wrap, put a baking sheet on top, and inverted the board he’d made the design on. Now it was upside down, on a plastic-wrap-covered baking sheet. He pressed the dough into the plastic gently, just at a few places, then rapidly inverted the baking sheet over the pie. 

He tugged the plastic wrap just a bit to try to center the top crust. 

“Close enough, I supposed,” Bittle said, then peeled the plastic off. The dough pulled up in a few places, but Bittle just smoothed them down with his fingers.

Jack moved back to watch Chowder put his pie in the oven, then watched Cait whip her cream for the top of her pie.

When he turned back to Bittle, he’d pressed the top and bottom crusts together all the way around and painted egg wash on the top. “I’ll add a little maple sugar right at the end,” he said. “Because I want the crystals to sparkle, not melt.”

When all the pies came out, Bittle’s did sparkle. The only one that gave it a run for its money appearance-wise was Will’s. He had topped the pumpkin pie with pastry leaves, painted with some kind of edible coloring to look like they had just fallen off trees at the height of New England’s leaf-peeping season.

That pie was good, the judges said, but the taste was … not as spectacular as the appearance. Chowder was criticized for using cookie cutters, and for having a pie that looked like a kindergarten felt board. The judges told Cait she should have stayed with a graham cracker crust; the pastry wasn’t a good match for the dense filling. And the macarons, while decorative, didn’t work with the flavor profile.

March’s lemon meringue was so-so (“and the bottom really is a bit soggy, dear,” Atley said) and April’s blueberry filling had leaked out her vents and burned on the top.

“But I really like that citrus in the filling,” Hall said.

In the end, it wasn’t much of a contest. Bittle walked away with star baker for the second week in a row; March went home.

At his post-challenge interview, Bittle’s ears were still pink from the judges’ praise.

“My goal all along was to get to pie week, because I know I’m good at pie,” he said. “But now I really want to keep going. I know some people didn’t think I could do this in the beginning —” his eyes flicked away from the camera, right to Jack — “and I didn’t know if I could, either. I still don’t, for that matter, but I think maybe I can. Only way to find out is to keep trying.”

_Bitty’s tourtiere is something like [this](https://www.pbs.org/food/kitchen-vignettes/classic-french-canadian-tourtiere/)._

_ [Mini pear pies](http://www.pbs.org/food/recipes/mini-pear-pies/) _


	8. Episode 8: Victorian

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Series 6, Episode 7_

“Hello, hello, hello bakers,” Holster said. “We are going to a trip back to jolly old England this week, emphasis on the ‘old.’”

“Welcome to Victorian week,” Ransom said.

“As all of you no doubt know, the Victorian era is when a lot of baking as we know it now originated,” Holster said. “So we are going back to our baking roots this weekend.”

“Now, in case you didn’t get enough pie last week, this week’s signature challenge is a game pie. This is not a sticky-sweet confection,” Ransom said. “This is a main dish, made with hot water crust, that will stand on its own when it is removed from the tin.”

“The flavor of the game meat should be clear, and the decorations should be elaborate,” Holster said. “You have three hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake.”

With five bakers remaining, the benches had been rearranged again. Cait and Bittle were working at the two at the front, April was alone in the middle row, and Will and Chowder were at the back. Jack was stationed near the front and Marty was near the back, with the two of them sharing responsibility for April.

“I’d never worked with hot water crust before this,” Cait told Jack’s camera as she started to knead it. “But I did practice the technique quite a bit. I could only do the full bake a couple of times, though, because game meat is kind of expensive, you know? And I had to buy this special tin, which wasn’t cheap.”

Bittle was browning meat in a pan with a combination of herbs and spices.

“I think browning the meat will maybe help the flavor stand out,” he said. “I’m using venison, which is a little like beef, only more lean. More protein, too.”

Jack paused the recording.

“That’s good,” he said. “You should eat more protein.”

Bittle gave him an affronted look. “You are aware you work for a baking show, right?”

Jack made a show of turning the recording on again.

“Do you have a lot of experience cooking game?” he asked as a prompt.

“Hardly any,” Bittle said. “But most of the men in my family hunt, so my mama and my MooMaw do.”

Jack kept a straight face and did not ask, “What’s a MooMaw?” That was something Ransom or Holster could do. 

“They gave me some ideas on how to season this and all,” Bittle went on, apparently unaware that he’d said anything amusing. “But I don’t think either one ever made a venison pie.”

April, working behind Bittle, was cutting little rabbits out of crust to decorate her rabbit pie. “I’m not sure I got the filling right,” she told Jack’s camera. “There just didn’t seem to be enough of it.”

Bittle seemed to have the opposite problem: His filling came up over the top of the tin and the pastry lid — a tightly woven lattice reminiscent of a picnic basket — had a distinct dome.

Once everyone’s pies were in the oven, there was a lot of standing around, with the biggest decision for most being when to reduce the temperature of their ovens.

Bittle kept probing the inside of his pie with a thermometer and shaking his head. “It’s just not heating all the way through,” he said. “Maybe I packed it too tight?”

He kept his pie in the oven until there was just over a minute left in the bake, finally pulling it out and removing the tin with a groan. The crust was definitely too dark.

As the judges moved around the tent to sample the pies, Will and Chowder both got good marks.

“I would have liked a fish pie better, maybe,” Will said. “But we all hunted growing up, so I’ve cooked game before.”

Chowder had come up with a spice combination that Hall said he’d never had before, and he approved heartily.

Cait’s seemed to be acceptable, but April’s suffered from the dreaded soggy bottom. It didn’t help that her pastry was apparently too thick and her filling too scant.

“Oh, Eric, what happened?” Hall said, when he looked at Bittle’s overdone offering. 

“The middle wasn’t heating up,” Bittle said, “so I left the heat up. If I was at home and not worried about the time, I probably would have turned the oven down but left it longer.”

“I’m not sure that would have helped,” Hall said, cutting through the crust and sending shards of pastry across the bench. “The problem is too much filling. That’s only just cooked through.”

Atley took a bite. “It’s a shame, because that tastes quite nice.”

Bittle nodded miserably. 

A bit later, outside the tent, he said, “I never thought I’d have so much trouble with a pie of all things,” he said. “But it’s not really like a pie, is it? It’s really more of a casserole. With a pastry crust. Which I should be able to do.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Teach me to get overconfident.”

* * *

Jack skipped lunch in favor of wandering the farm, recording the honey bees collecting nectar from flowers in the pasture. He just had time to grab a sandwich from the catering table on the way back. It was going to be a long technical challenge.

“All right, bakers, I think I can promise that you will LOVE our technical challenge,” Holster said. 

“But to ace it will be tricky,” Ransom said. “This is a Rob Hall special, so any words of advice?”

“It’s all in the timing,” Rob said.

“All right,” Holster said. “Off you go, if you want to make your court time.”

Once the judges were out of the tent, Ransom continued. “Rob and Alice have asked you to make a tennis cake. The recipe is one of Rob’s. It, and your ingredients, are on your benches. You have three hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

The remaining five bakers pulled the cloths from their benches and started to read.

“This is a fruitcake,” Cait said, looking up from the paper in her hand and glancing over the sultanas, cherries and pineapple on the bench.

“But with sugar paste and fondant,” Bittle said. 

“What’s royal icing?” April asked.

Will just groaned and started chopping fruit. Marty moved in to focus on him as he said, “This is a heck of a lot of work. Best get started.”

Chowder was following Will’s example, chopping fruit and nuts to go into the cake batter.

Jack turned back to his bakers. They were prepping their fruit as well: rinsing cherries, drying pineapple, chopping almonds while their mixers creamed butter and sugar together.

“I’d say the cake is the easy part,” Bittle said to Jack’s camera. “It’s the decorations that will be difficult to get right, especially since I’ve never seen what they’re supposed to look like. And we have to pretty much do them and put them together and then add them to the cake. But then, it’s always a mistake to not pay enough attention to the actual bake.”

All three of the bakers Jack was covering had their cakes in the oven within a half-hour and were turning to the decorations.

Bittle made his almond paste first, then his fondant. After he had the fondant dyed green, he rolled both out, placed the fondant on top of his almond paste, and cut the stacked confections into a rectangle. Cait, Jack saw, cut hers into separate rectangles and then stacked them.

They all mixed up their royal icing, and went to start piping tennis courts. Bittle paused and looked up.

“I just have to remember what a tennis court actually looks like,” he said. “I’ve played maybe twice.”

Cait was forging ahead, as was April. “I had some good friends on the tennis team when I was in college,” she said. “I went to a lot of their matches, so I should know what a court looks like.”

Everyone was bent over their benches, piping the court lines, tennis rackets and nets, when April asked, “Does anyone know how long the icing should be in the oven?”

Bittle looked aghast.

“You put your icing in the oven?” he asked.

“Yes?”

He shook his head and went back to his own work. Jack made sure he got video of taking her icing out moments later.

“Bakers, it will be game-set-match in two minutes. Two minutes to finish your tennis courts, er, cakes,” Holster said.

Will’s was done, sitting on the end of his bench. Cait set her fondant net firmly in the line of royal icing at center court and stepped back. Chowder’s net was wonky, but he was putting it on his cake anyway.

Bittle was just pressing his net into the icing when half of it crumbled in his hands.

April’s was … Well, she had a net. But all the white parts of her icing had turned yellow from the heat of the oven, and everything but the rackets and the net was kind of melted together.

As Jack expected, she came last for the technical bake. Will, who could probably construct an actual house from baked goods if necessary, came first, followed by Cait.

From listening to the judges, Jack thought it was a near thing, but Chowder edged out Bittle for third place.

“It was a pretty good day for me,” Chowder told Jack’s camera. “And Cait. Oh, and Will did so well today! I think Bitty was a little disappointed, though.”

Bittle did look sad, waiting for Will to finish up so he could take his turn with Marty. 

“I was always taught to measure twice and cut once,” Will said. “Use that more in building than baking, but sometimes they’re the same thing.”

Bittle nearly bumped into Jack getting in the van to go back to the hotel.

“I’ll stay back if you want to skate tonight,” Jack said.

“Nah,” Bittle said. “I didn’t even bring my skates this week. I’ll be good and stay at the hotel. Tomorrow’s going to be a long, long day.”

“You’ll be fine,” Jack said. “You did it last week, right?”

“Jack, honey, I’m not sure come-from-behind is the best strategy here,” Bittle said. 

* * *

Jack made it to the farm early for showstopper day. He got video of the sun rising over the barn, sheep in the meadow, horses being exercised. He knew the showstopper was a long one, and he wouldn’t be able to get outside much until later in the afternoon. He just hoped everything went well.

For all the bakers.

Jack knew that disasters made for good television, but by this point in the season, he found himself rooting for them to do well. Even the ones that it looked like wouldn’t make it all the way to the final. Lardo probably knew as well as Atley and Hall who the finalists were likely to be; Jack assumed Will would be there. He hoped for Bittle; he didn’t think it would be April. As for Chowder and Cait, who could tell?

He appreciated that the show didn’t encourage drama between the bakers; most seasons, most of them were like Bittle, ready to help one another out as much as they could. They all wanted to win, of course, but they wanted to do it by baking exceptionally well, not by anyone else baking exceptionally badly. It was a distinction Jack appreciated.

He got video of the bakers approaching the tent, then took up his position inside.

“Today we have an eye-popper of a showstopper,” Ransom said. “You have been tasked by Rob and Alice with making a Charlotte Russe. This is a confection traditionally made with ladyfingers, jelly and bavarois. You can make it with any flavors you like, and use any kind of decorations you like.”

“But remember, appearance counts!” Holster interjected. “The judges will be looking for something that both looks and tastes divine.”

“Because there are so many components to this bake, you have been given five and a half hours,” Ransom said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

The bakers all started with their ladyfingers, whisking egg yolks and sugar together, then adding flour and whipping meringue to add to their mixtures. 

“I’ve seen this called a no-bake dessert,” Cait said, once she had both ladyfingers and the sponge she planned to use for her base in the oven. “I guess that’s true if you’re using packaged ladyfingers.”

Once the ladyfingers and sponges were in the ovens, bakers turned toward making their bavarois and jellies to fill the shells.

“I’ve never worked with this kind of gelatine before,” Bittle said. “I mean, I’ve made jellies and jams and such, but we do that by just cooking it down and maybe adding some pectin. But that takes way too long.”

April was making two kinds of jelly — raspberry pomegranate and champagne — but she seemed more overwhelmed than most anyone else, even Will, who looked like he was baking some kind of crown structure for decoration. 

“I’m making a rose-flavored jelly and custard,” Cait explained to Ransom and the judges. “And I’m hand-forming fondant roses to decorate it, all around the base and on the top.”

“So we could call it a Charlotte Rose?” Ransom said.

“Exactly!” Cait beamed.

“That’s quite a delicate flavor,” Atley said. “Are you sure it will come through?”

“It did when I practiced it,” Cait said. “I’ve used rose water, of course, but also this rose syrup.”

Jack made sure to get a close-up on the bottle.”

He went back to April, who had put her dessert in the fridge to chill the first layer while she worked on the raspberry-pomegranate jelly.

“I really don’t know why I wanted to make two jellies,” she said. “I know I need something to knock their socks off, but I only just got it made within the time at home. Not finishing would be bad.”

Bittle was now talking to the judges. “I’m going with raspberry and mango,” he said. “I thought the raspberry was pretty traditional, and the mango is just a bit different.’

“Is that two sponge disks you’re using?” Atley asked.

“Yes,” Bittle said. “They’re pretty thin, and it will help keep the mango bavarois separate from the raspberry one.”

“That’s not precisely traditional,” Atley said. 

“Maybe not,” Bittle said. “But my layers won’t bleed together.”

The judges moved on and Bittle stared at his bench.

“Should I leave it out?” he said, apparently to himself. “It could work. It would probably work. No. I’m going to do it the way I practiced.”

As the session wore on, Ransom and Holster became less sneaky about stealing bits of fruit and discarded ends of ladyfingers from the benches. The bakers were sipping from mugs of water as they shuttled their desserts in and out of the refrigerators in between fashioning decorations. 

They all seemed to be holding up well, but by the time Holster called five minutes left, even Jack was ready to be off his feet. 

Cait was placing what seemed like dozens of fondant roses around her Charlotte. Bittle had fanned sliced mango on top of his, and was now piping meringue rosettes. Each was topped with a plump raspberry. April was pulling her jelly from the freezer.

“It still hasn’t set,” she moaned. “It must be time to pray for a miracle.”

With one minute left, everyone had finished except Will. All eyes were on him as he carefully placed individual draguees on a line of icing he had piped onto his crown.

He finished, stepping back with his hands in the air, just as Ransom called time.

“We have a whole lotta Charlottes,” he said. “And time is … up!”

Jack looked over the offerings. Will’s looked the most impressive with the crown on top, and April’s looked to be the least stable. Cait’s, Chowder’s and Bittle’s all looked all right to him, but he wouldn’t get to taste any until the day was over.

Cait’s 'Charlotte Rose' pleased the judges, especially Atley. “This is really quite sophisticated,” she said. “The bavarois is well done, and the jelly has set.”

Bittle’s was criticized because he’s overlapped the ladyfingers around the edge slightly.

“I know you probably did it to get a tighter seal, but they should be set almost shoulder-to-shoulder,” Hall said.

Jack saw Bittle’s shoulders fall.

“I do think the second sponge inside works, giving you absolutely clear layers,” Hall continued.

“All of your components are good,” Atley said. “And the flavors you chose work well together. It tastes quite fresh.”

Bittle managed a small smile when he thanked the judges and walked away.

April’s was kind of a disaster. A section of three or four ladyfingers had broken free from the Charlotte, and the raspberry-pomegranate jelly had dripped down the side.

“You’ve had a structural problem here,” Atley said. “And your jelly is not done.”

“I also don’t see what the pomegranate adds to it, besides grit,” Hall said. “The taste is totally overwhelmed by the raspberry. I do like the combination of raspberry and champagne. I only wish you’d left the pomegranate out.”

Will’s was pronounced magnificent in terms of appearance, but only good in terms of flavor.

“You spent so much time on this crown that you couldn’t give enough attention to the fillings,” Atley said. “All you gave us was strawberry bavarois and strawberry jelly.”

“It’s quite nice,” Hall said. “But it’s not stunning.”

Chowder, on the other hand, surprised the judges with his spiced blackberry, raspberry and cardamom Charlotte Russe.

“Those are flavors I never would have thought to use together,” Atley said. “Especially in a dessert like this. But they really work together. Well done.”

The judges disappeared with Ransom and Holster for longer than usual before coming back to announce star baker and who was going home.

When they came back, Holster stepped forward. 

“I have the pleasure of announcing a brand-new star baker this week,” he said. “And even though his nickname is a soup, he’s proved he can handle the dessert course as well. Congratulations, Chowder.”

“That means I have the decidedly unpleasant job of telling you which baker will not join us for the semifinal next week. I’m sorry to say that baker is … April.”

“Come give us a hug,” Holster said.

Bittle looked stunned.

“I thought it would be me,” he said. “It should be me.”

Jack saw Hall approach Bittle and take him aside, just a couple of feet from Jack.

“I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to, son, but it was never going to be you this week,” he said. “Maybe not your best week, but not bad. April’s a good baker, but as things got more complicated, she was just overmatched.”

When he walked away, Bittle went back to the group and embraced Chowder.

“I’m so happy for you,” he said. “You deserved this.”

_ [Tennis cake](https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/marys-tennis-cake-technical-challenge/) _

_ [Bitty’s raspberry and mango Charlotte Russe](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/mango_and_raspberry_80510) _


	9. Episode 9: The Semifinal, Patisserie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, all that remains is a lengthy chapter about the final episode and a short epilogue. Should I post them both the same day, or keep to the twice a week schedule?

_The baking challenges in this chapter are based on The Great British Bake-Off, Season 2, Episode 7_

Episode 9: Semifinal, Patisserie

The morning of the first day of the semifinal was cool with occasional drizzle. Jack made sure to get out early to get the outdoor shots the show would need: a spider web bejeweled with tiny droplets of water, the rain making rings appear on the surface of the pond, mist rising from the meadow.

This was the second-to-last weekend of the season, and he wanted to make sure Lardo had everything she needed before it wrapped up, including shots of the farm in different weather conditions. 

Really, he owed it to her, after the drama he’d been part of earlier in the season. He hadn’t meant it to happen, and couldn’t honestly say why Bittle had rubbed him the wrong way at the beginning. As the weeks had passed, Jack had come to respect Bittle for his hard work, his enthusiasm, his kindness to his fellow bakers.

Now, if Jack would admit to having a favorite, it would have to be Bittle. But Jack knew he wasn’t a shoo-in; Will had edged him in the number of times he won star baker, Cait was consistently good and Chowder had come on in the late weeks.

It didn’t really matter. Bittle had a good run, and it wasn’t like there was really any prize for winning. Right. Jack could keep telling himself that.

And after next week, Jack would never see Bittle again. Maybe. Probably.

Honestly, with the way Bittle reacted to him, that might be for the best.

Jack was ready in the tent when the four remaining bakers came in. For the semifinal, with only four bakers left, Jack took the front right corner, next to Bittle but with a good view of Cait next to him and Chowder behind him. Marty had the back left corner, next to Will.

The positioning gave Jack a moment of hope; he knew it meant Lardo and the rest of the production team thought it likely that both Bittle and Will would go through to the final. Wait, why was he hopeful? It really didn’t matter.

“Welcome to the semifinal, bakers,” Holster said. “My first job is to offer all of you congratulations. My second job is to offer condolences, because this weekend will feature some of the most difficult challenges Alice and Rob have ever set.”

“For the signature bake, Alice and Rob want each of you to make a mousse cake,” Ransom said. "That means this cake should have a light, delicate sponge and a rich mousse filling.”

“That’s mousse with a u and two s’s,” Holster said. “In case Ransom, the big Canadian moose, was confusing you.”

Ransom gave Holster an exasperated look.

“You’re trying too hard,” he said. “But not as hard as you bakers will have to try. You have two hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack watched as the bakers switched on their mixers, most of them starting by creaming butter and sugar together. Bittle ended up with a bright orange mixture, which he piped onto a baking sheet in a swirled pattern.

When he saw Jack watching, he started to explain for the camera. “This is going to make a pattern in the sponge that will show on the outside of the cake,” he said. “It’s something called a ‘joconde,’ and Lord knows I’d never heard of it until I started to research mousse cakes for this challenge. I’m just gonna put this in the freezer to firm up while I make the sponge.”

Jack turned his camera to Cait, who was making diagonal lines in the paste she had spread on her baking sheet. “My cake is going to be chocolate and amaretto mousse,” she said. “So I’m planning to have the outside be a chocolate sponge with these white diagonal lines in it. The mousse will be chocolate amaretto.”

Chowder wasn’t trying to make a patterned sponge. He was making a strawberry genoise sponge, to be filled with white chocolate hazelnut mousse. 

Will also seemed to be working with raspberries and strawberries, and it looked to Jack like he also was making a joconde sponge.

As soon as the bakers had their sponges in the oven, they got to work on their mousses, whipping egg whites and combining egg yolks and flavoring.

The sponges were all thin and came out of the ovens in a matter of minutes. Once they were cool and the mousse was done, it was a matter of careful assembly: lining round springform pans with parchment, cutting rectangular strips from the sponge to form the sides of the cake, fitting round sections of sponge into the middle to form the base.

Bittle did that, biting off a cry when he thought one of his sides was cracking as he curved it to fit in the pan. Then he filled the shell of the cake with his orange chocolate mousse and set a second round sponge on top.

“The really challenging thing is hoping it cools down in time,” he said. “At home, I’d give this part on its own a couple of hours, but I can’t do that now. Into the freezer it goes.”

All the bakers used the cooling time to make toppings and decorations: spirals of orange peel, whipped cream or meringue, jellies and glazes. Bittle was making a clear orange jelly and whipped cream. The cream came together nicely, but the jelly was still a little runny when Bittle spread it on the cake.

“Lets just hope the judges don’t notice,” Bitte said to Jack’s camera. “At least it’s not dripping off the side.”

The judges, of course, noticed.

“It seems like you could have used a little more time for this to set,” Hall said.

Bittle nodded.

“At this stage of the game, you need to manage your time and plan bakes that you can finish in the time allotted,” Atley said.

Bittle nodded again.

“I know,” he said, barely audible.

“However, the taste is really lovely,” she said.

None of the others was bad, but none of them were perfect, either. Jack was pretty sure the signature bake had not boosted anyone too much, or dealt anyone a fatal blow. 

Well, maybe the biggest blow was to Bittle’s confidence.

“I knew it might be too much to make a jelly too,” he said to Jack’s camera before heading to lunch. “But I could do it at home, and it really does add something to the cake. I don’t know why it didn’t work here. I really don’t want to go home this weekend.”

* * *

“We are about to start our technical challenge, which once again is one of Alice’s recipes. Alice, any words of advice before you and Rob head off to your Buns of Steel class?” Holster said.

“In this recipe, consistency — in both its meanings — is key. You want the proper consistency with your dough, and you want everything to look uniform. Good luck!”

Once she and Rob had disappeared, Ransom turned to the bakers. “As you may have gathered, you will be making buns today. Twelve identical iced finger buns, to be exact. You have two and a half hours, bakers, so get those buns moving! Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack watched as the bakers heated milk and combined it with yeast, flour, eggs, sugar and butter, then a bit of water. The ingredients made a dough which turned out to be very sticky, leading Chowder to keep adding flour as he tried to knead it.

Bittle and Cait kept to the recipe amounts, but had to keep scraping dough from their hands and work surfaces. Will seemed to be coping the best, but Jack knew he had the most experience with breads.

“This is really just a sweet bread,” Bittle told Holster when he started making rounds. “I was hoping for some actual pastry.”

“Not difficult enough for you?” Holster said. “Great buns are easy for you hockey players to achieve?”

“Haha,” Bittle said. “Believe me, getting the buns right is plenty difficult. It’s just not what I’m good at.”

Holster looked at Bittle skeptically. “I bet lots of guys on your team want a taste of your buns,” he said, with a raised eyebrow.

The innuendo wasn’t too terrible, but Bittle turned tomato red, then pale. “Please don’t use that part,” he said.

Holster stepped back, and motioned for Shitty from where he was watching behind the cameras.

“Tater, dude, ix-nay with the amera-cay,” he said. “I think I made Eric uncomfortable, and he wants us to edit out part of our conversation.”

“What’s the problem, brah?” Shitty asked as Tater stepped back.

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it,” Bittle said. “But something he said could imply I’m gay.”

“And that’s a problem?” Shitty said. “You want girls to know you’re available?”

“No, I am gay,” Bittle said, his voice rising slightly in frustration. “I just don’t want it on TV.”

“We’ve had plenty of gay bakers before,” Shitty said. 

“I know,” Bittle said. “But my parents don’t know I’m gay, and I’d like for this to not be the way they find out.”

Shitty nodded. “Okay. That falls into the category of totally your business and nothing to do with the show. Holster, you okay with doing some witty banter without the homoerotic undertone?”

“Sure thing,” Holster said.

The session continued, with all the remaining bakers turning back to their own benches like they hadn’t been listening. Bittle, who had managed to get his dough in the proving drawer before pausing to talk to Shitty, set himself to lining a baking sheet with parchment and drawing guidelines to place his buns.

“So, I hear you play hockey,” Holster tried. “Bet you’re an expert in iced buns.” 

Bittle shook his head and rolled his eyes, but he grinned, too. Holster smiled back and moved on.

Jack wasn’t surprised to learn Bittle was gay. He was a little surprised Bittle was more concerned about his parents finding out than his team, but Samwell had a reputation for being LGBTQ+ friendly. 

Jack turned to Chowder, who was preparing his filling while his dough rose.

“It seemed like there was so much dough,” Chowder said. “How much is that supposed to rise?”

Cait was also making fillings. Jack stood and recorded her for a bit, then moved back to get Bittle shaping the dough into fingers for the second rise.

Jack thought Bittle still seemed distracted, although he wasn’t sure it would come across to the eventual television audience. He was still shaping the dough, placing it carefully on the tray. But his eyes didn’t seem to be as focused, and Jack caught him counting the rolls three times to make sure he actually had a dozen.

After Bittle set the rolls aside to rise, he looked at Jack. “I hope that conversation didn’t make you think less of me,” he said. 

“No, of course not,” Jack said. “Why would you think --”

Then Marty waved him over.

“Could you get more of Cait?” he said. “I want to get Will making his rolls, and Eric and Chowder seem a little ahead.”

“Sure,” Jack said. He dutifully recorded Cait placing her rolls on her tray, rambling a bit about how she had never eaten a roll like this before.

“It seems like maybe it would be more interesting if it had more flavor,” Cait said. “Even just in the filling. These seem a little plain to me.”

Jack knew that would make the final cut, probably with a voiceover from Ransom explaining that the simplicity meant there was no way to hide a bad bake.

Still, he wondered what Bittle meant by the conversation making Jack think less of him. Because he was gay? If that was what he meant, it would be a little insulting, even if Jack was straight … which he wasn’t. Because he wasn’t entirely out of the closet? Not like Jack had any room to judge there — even if Bittle didn’t know that — and it really wasn’t anyone’s place to judge that anyway. 

Bakers started shuttling their rolls into and out of the ovens, then splitting and decorating them. Chowder’s were visibly bigger than the others, but Jack didn’t see any obvious disasters in the making as he moved from bench to bench.

When it looked like Bittle was done — each roll was iced and filled and had a line of jam piped over the filling — Jack stepped behind Bittle’s bench and stopped recording.

“I don’t know why you’d think —”

Jack didn’t get any further, as Bittle had jumped about six inches, his shoulder bumping Jack’s chest and the bun he was placing on the serving platter landing face down on the floor.

The icing stuck to the carpet, the cream filling splattered, and there were flecks of red jam all over the surface.

“Oh, fu — fudge!” Bittle said. “Why’d you come up behind me like that?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said. “I really didn’t mean to startle you.”

“But you did!”

Holster and Ransom both came over.

“Yeah, Jack, why’d you startle him?” Holster said, aiming for funny but not quite making it. It seemed like everyone wanted to look out for Bittle. 

“You should warn a baker before you try to shoot over their shoulder,” Ransom said. 

Jack didn’t explain that he hadn’t even had his camera up. And, since the show worked hard to keep the cameras out of the shots, chances were none of this would end up in the final cut, and viewers would think Bittle messed up on his own.

“I really didn’t mean for that to happen, and I am sorry,” Jack said.

“No matter,” Bittle said, picking up the bun and looking at it. “I can add another layer of icing and redo the filling, but it’s never going to look like the others.”

“It’ll be okay,” Holster said. “We’ll tell Rob and Alice that it was damaged by circumstances beyond your control.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate,” Bittle said. “Sure, Jack loomed, but I jumped and dropped it. And it’s the technical, so I won’t have a chance to say anything until they’ve judged them anyway.”

That was what happened. The judges liked the rest of Bittle’s iced buns, but wondered aloud what happened to the wonky one. 

Chowder’s buns were indeed too big, Atley said, because he’d added too much flour. That also made them too dry.

Will, whose iced buns did indeed look perfect, took top marks in the technical bake, followed by Cait. Bittle did edge out Chowder for third place, because Atley said the ones that hadn’t been dropped were delicious. Jack suspected he would have placed at least second if he’d provided twelve identical buns.

With only four bakers left, Marty got all the post-bake comments so Jack could do more outdoor shots in the waning light. Before heading across the meadow, Jack saw Shitty talking to Bittle.

“So the judges know what happened, even if they didn’t when they ranked the bake,” Shitty said. “They’ll take that into account.”

“They know it was my fault?” Jack said, approaching them. 

“Not entirely,” Shitty said. “The tent is a busy place, and the bakers have to be ready to have people in their space. But you did kind of freak Bits here out, y’know?”

“I know,” Jack said. “I did mean it when I said I was sorry. And about before — that doesn’t change my opinion of you at all. That was a brave thing, to call it out right in the moment.”

* * *

“I think I’m going to tell him.”

Jack was looking at his coffee mug rather than at Shitty and Lardo, seated across the table from him.

“Tell who?” Shitty asked.

“Tell him what?” Lardo asked.

“Bittle,” Jack said, because who else would he be talking about? “That I’m not straight. He seemed to think I might have a problem with it yesterday — with him being gay, or being in the closet, or something. So he knows that I get it.”

“Jack, bro,” Lardo said. “You don’t have to do that. It’s not really any of his business.”

“And it might distract him even more,” Shitty said.

“Maybe when the show ends?” Jack said. “So he can concentrate on the baking until then.”

“You mean when his show ends,” Lardo said. “He could be out today.”

Jack shrugged. “I thought they were making laminated pastry today,” he said. “You really think he’ll have a problem with that?”

“Point,” Shitty said. “Are you sure that’s the only reason you want to come out to him? Solidarity and all that?”

“We kind of got off on the wrong foot,” Jack said. “And I thought some things — said some things — about him that weren’t really fair, maybe.”

“Okay, and?”

“And nothing,” Jack said. “I just don’t want him to leave and spend the rest of his life thinking I’m an asshole who hated him.”

“You’re not an asshole,” Shitty said. “Even if you do a pretty good impression of one sometimes.”

Jack knew this week’s showstopper was going to be a long one. Laminated doughs always were. Judging by the bakers’ expressions when the arrived in the tent, they knew it too.

“Bakers, today you are making not one kind of pastry, but three,” Ransom said. “You are to use the same dough for all three, and it must be laminated. It also must be crispy on the outside and, unlike your laminate floors, soft on the inside.”

“You have four and a half hours to make hundreds of flaky layers,” Holster said. “Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

Jack watched as the bakers all started with similar basic ingredients: milk and yeast and flour and salt, kneading their dough and rolling it flat. He watched as they pounded and rolled butter, set it on top of their dough and folded. Then there were what seemed like endless turns rolling out the dough, folding it and returning it to the freezer to try to keep the butter cold.

“It’s really difficult to make it this fast,” Bittle said. “Normally, I’d leave it in the fridge an hour between turns. Since we don’t have that kind of time, I think we’re all using the freezers today.”

Between turns rolling out their dough, the bakers worked on their fillings and decorations.

Cait was making a Danish pastry dough, with raspberry rose Danishes, praline spirals and Alsatian plaited Danishes.

“The good thing about making a Danish dough is that it doesn’t have to be turned quite so many times,” she said. “But it can be a bit stickier.”

Chowder had gone with three kinds of croissants: plain, pain au chocolate and pain aux raisin.

Will also had pain aux raisin, but he had added chocolate twists and banana and raisin pastries.

Bittle was using raisins in his apple, raisin and cinnamon plaits, but his other flavors were different, with apple, macadamia nut and white chocolate pinwheels and almond croissants.

“I do like the flavors and textures I get with nuts in pastry, and that seemed like an opportunity, with no else using them for this challenge,” he said.

A night of sleep seemed to have done Bittle good, or maybe it was just that he was baking things that were familiar. Jack remembered his gasp of recognition when he saw the recipe for the arlettes in week two (“Oh, this is puff pastry!”) and settled in to making them while the rest of the competitors groaned.

He didn’t react much to Jack’s presence, just keeping a steady pace to his work and switching to an audible voice to narrate his steps when he saw Jack focusing on him. Once or twice, Jack even thought he saw him smile.

Jack found himself enjoying the day. The feeling in the tent at the end of the season was always different. It wasn’t just less crowded; it was that the people who were left usually knew what they were doing. They were being tested and stressed, of course, but they had a confidence that most of the bakers — even themselves — didn’t have in weeks one and two. They also knew one another better and were more familiar with the crew. This group seemed like they were all friends, and if Cait and Chowder weren’t a couple yet, it wouldn’t take long after the show ended.

It would be easier if every weekend was like this, instead of the platefuls of disaster served up in the early weeks. These were people putting on a show with how good they were.

This week, when Ransom called time, each baker had the requisite pastries displayed on serving plates at the end of their benches.

Jack thought they all looked good. He wondered — again — how Bittle could make and eat so much of this kind of food and still be in shape to play hockey. Bittle maybe could bulk up a little if he ate more protein, but overall, he was clearly fit.

Most of the bakers who came through the tent were in pretty good shape, though, including all four of this season’s semifinalists. They really kind of had to be, to spend the kind of days they did active and on their feet. 

The judges moved through the bakes, evaluating each of the bakers’ efforts for taste and presentation. Chowder’s croissants were criticized for not being flaky enough (“I think the butter got too warm and just kind of melted into the dough,” Hall said), and his three pastries were too similar, according to Atley.

Cait had good variety, with three totally different shapes, but Atley said the rose flavor didn’t come through in her raspberry rose Danish.

Hall didn’t like the combination of banana and raisin that Will used, although he allowed that some people (“Like me!” Atley said) might.

Bittle’s pastries didn’t draw any criticism at all, and the apple, macadamia nut and white chocolate pinwheels drew praise.

“I wasn’t sure how you were going to get all those flavors in there,” Hall said. “But they actually work together.”

Cait ended up as star baker, probably on the strength of three good bakes with no real problems. Chowder was leaving the show, but he didn’t seem too upset. He gave Cait a long hug on camera, and a longer hug off camera. When it came time for final comments, he said, “Did you see how great Cait was? She could definitely win this whole thing.”

Then he stopped to consider.

“But so could Bitty or Will. They’re all really good, and I was lucky to stay around so long with them. I would have loved to make the final, but this has been the best experience I’ve ever had. Definitely the most fun I’ve had in a kitchen.”

This time, Bittle sought Jack out before getting in the bakers’ van.

“Thanks for what you said yesterday,” he said. “It helped. I think if we’d met under different circumstances, you and I could have even been friends.”

_ [Bitty’s orange mousse cake](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/chocolate_and_orange_84539) _

_[Iced buns](https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/iced_fingers_34133)_


	10. Episode 10: The Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look for the epilogue on Sunday

_Note: Challenges taken from GBBO Season 8 final_

Jack woke early enough the morning of the final’s first day to go for a run around town.

Or maybe it was just that he hadn’t really slept.

Which was weird for him. He didn’t feel panicky, didn’t feel like his anxiety — the never-ending fear that he was letting himself, his parents, his friends, the whole world down — was spiking. 

He felt nervous, like he was approaching some kind of a moment. Like the moment he left home to play juniors, or the moment he decided to give up hockey once and for all. The kind of moment where his life would change, for good or ill, and he had no way of knowing how it would all turn out until it happened.

So a morning run to settle his nerves. Then plenty of time to get the day’s establishing shots at the farm, which was bursting with life and color in its late spring glory.

If this was going to be his last season on the baking show, he wanted to make sure it was the best it could be.

He would talk to Lardo after the show wrapped tomorrow, he decided. 

She would probably think it had something to do with Bittle. That the early friction and subsequent connection on the ice had made him question his ability to work on the show and be fair to all the contestants.

That wasn’t true at all, though. Jack’s camera didn’t lie, and he was professional enough to make sure he got footage of everyone. It wasn’t his fault if Bittle looked especially attractive on the recordings. That was just the way he was.

Bittle had gotten under his skin, sure, because at the beginning he seemed … unprepared? unqualified? compared to the others. But as Jack had watched the effort Bittle put in, the knowledge that he brought to the tent, he’d been reluctantly impressed. The fact that Bittle did it while going to school and playing high-level hockey made Bittle’s accomplishments that much more remarkable. It wasn’t an indication of a lack of commitment, as Jack had thought at first.

And if Bittle, with everything he had going against him — size (at least in hockey), feeling he had to be closeted from his parents, lack of support for his interest in baking — could achieve so much, then Jack could break away and do what he wanted, too.

Not hockey, at least not NHL hockey. Jack had been away from the sport for too long to get that back, and now, looking back, he realized he didn’t want it. The game, sure. He’d always feel at home on the ice. But the bright lights and cameras in his face, watching his every move? No, thanks.

What he wanted, he realized, was to go back to school, finish the history degree he’d started when he was flailing around after the overdose. Maybe get a master’s (a doctorate, maybe, even) and teach. But also use that expertise to make the kind of history documentaries he liked to watch — pieces that got behind what was written in the textbooks, behind the battle lines and into people’s homes and workplaces. He thought he’d be good at that.

And if Bittle could do things no one expected him to, maybe Jack could too.

But first he had to finish out this season, like a professional.

All three of the bakers looked a little nervous when they took their spots in a tent that was now far emptier than it had been in the early weeks.

The remaining benches were staggered, with two bakers on the left, one on the right between them, so no one was next to anyone else and everyone would have plenty of room.

Cait was in front on the left, Bittle was on the right, and Will was in back on the left. Jack and Marty would all be covering all three, filling in where someone was needed, while Tater would stay with the judges and hosts.

“Welcome, finalists,” Ransom said. “You all should be very proud to be here.”

“But it’s not time to relax just yet,” Holster said. “Rob and Alice have set three challenges that they hope will give you a chance to demonstrate your skills rather than drive you to distraction.”

“Although, knowing them, which is more likely?” Ransom said.

“Let’s get to it,” Holster said. “For your signature bake, you will produce twelve mini-loaves of bread, but it’s not as easy as that. They must be three different types of bread. Four of your loaves must be intricately shaped — think braided or something like that — four must be flavored and four must be made using an alternative to traditional flour such as spelt or buckwheat.”

“Because it’s bread, which will need to rise twice, we’re giving you a nice long time,” Ransom said. “You have three hours.”

“That should be enough to do everything you knead, right?” Holster said. “Get it? Knead?”

The bakers all groaned. Jack wasn’t sure if the reaction was to the pun, or the time. Three hours would be plenty for one kind of bread, but three?

Jack started with Bittle, who had two stand mixers going in front of him.

“Bread?” Bittle said. “Of course it would have to be bread. But if I can get through this, then the rest should be better. Right?”

Jack knew he wasn’t meant to answer, but he smiled before heading to Cait’s bench, making way for Tater, Ransom and Rob to approach Bittle.

“So why, in a challenge where you have limited time, did you choose ciabatta and brioche, which traditionally need longer proving times?” Rob asked as Jack moved away.

“I’m seriously wondering about that myself now,” Bittle said. “I did practice and get it done within the time at home, so I think I can, but maybe I should have chosen something else.”

Cait was busy kneading her spelt dough by hand.

“If you overwork spelt, it gets really rubbery and hard to chew,” she said to Jack’s camera. “I want this to be like a Roman bread, something they would have served two thousand years ago with olive oil. But I don’t want my loaves to taste like they’re two thousand years old!”

Will had mixed his spelt with rye, and was getting ready to prove it so he could start on his fillings.

“Tell me I’m crazy for doing two filled breads,” he said. “I’ve got to roast the garlic for the windsor knots and and I’m doing a sweet chocolate bread.”

By the time Jack made it back to Bittle, he was putting his third dough — his spelt bread — in the proving drawer. Jack made sure to get an image of all three bowls covered in plastic wrap with individual timers resting on the top

“This is going to get really complicated,” Bittle said. “There are three doughs that all have to prove twice, for different amounts of time, and bake for different times. I’m afraid I’m going to forget something and leave it in the drawer or in the oven too long.”

Jack kept the camera on him as he pulled a sheet of paper covered in numbers closer and started crossing off some notes and changing others.

Will seemed to have the most to do, which made sense if he had two different filled breads. He also wasn’t doing a simple braided loaf like Bittle and Cait; his shaped bread was actually knotted.

“I grew up around boats,” he said. “I guess knots just come naturally.”

Bittle seemed to be working steadily through the challenge, which was good. Jack saw him consult his list more than once. It seemed that the past nine weeks had taught Bittle something about organization and staying on track, if nothing else.

Cait’s breads, in addition to the spelt, included a flower-shaped loaf and a bread filled with coconut, black chickpeas and some kind of an Asian sweetener called jaggery that not even Alice was familiar with.

“I found it in a shop near San Jose, where I’m from,” she said, “and it has just this lovely taste to it.”

By the time Holster told them the bake was finished, all three were arranging their loaves on platters and in baskets.

Will did not look happy. The reason was apparent as soon as the judges approached, and Alice picked up one of the spelt loaves. The side had ripped when it rose in the oven, making it misshapen. Atley cut it open and said, “This is underproved, and underbaked.”

“It looks like you were so busy working on the other two that you didn’t give enough time to this one,” Hall said. 

The garlic windsor knots were pronounced good, as were the sweet chocolate loaves, but the judges didn’t seem wowed by either of them. Jack caught Will’s grimace as the judges moved on, and he understood. Will was by far the best breadmaker of the group, and he’d been hoping to come out well ahead on the signature bake. While the judges’ comments didn’t make it a full-out disaster, is wasn’t what Will wanted either.

Bittle came next. His spelt boules were praised for having a good shape, something that could only be produced by a good rise and adequate bake. Atley liked the texture of his mushroom ciabatta, and Hall was pleasantly surprised by the flavor of his braided orange brioche. When the judges left him to head towards Cait’s bench, Jack saw his shoulders relax. His comments hadn’t been much better than Will’s, except for the spelt bread, but he was relieved and even pleased.

Cait turned out to be the surprising one for the signature bake. The judges hardly mentioned her Roman spelt, but Hall gushed about the shape of her bread flowers, and Atley — who normally, famously, did not care for coconut — loved the coconut and kala chana bread.

In the interviews after, Will grumbled that he should have known better than to try to do too much. Cait shone with pride, and anticipation. The judges never actually named a winner for the signature bake, but she was clearly ahead.

Bittle actually seemed … collected. 

“I got through the breads, which was what I wanted to do,” he said. “I feel like I can take a deep breath now. I still have a chance with this thing. I mean, so do Will and Cait, obviously, but I’m not out of it.”

There were samples of all the breads in the craft tent for lunch. Jack made a show of taking slivers from all three. Cait’s bread flowers were kind of plain when it came to flavor — which Jack kind of liked. Will’s garlic knots were excellent, but Jack’s favorite was Bittle’s orange brioche. 

He watched Tater sample the breads as well.

“The orange is good,” Tater said. “But the coconut one — so delicious. Rob and Alice in a pretty good mood, too. But just wait for technical.”

* * *

The bakers stood at their benches, waiting to find out what they would have to do and how long they’d have to do it.

“The final challenge was set by Rob,” Ransom announced. “Have you made things easy on them?”

“No,” Hall said.

“Any advice then?”

“It’s all about the bake,” Hall said.

“No treble?” Holster asked, drawing a strangled sort of giggle from Bittle. “Then off you go.”

He turned to the bakers and said, “The judges would like you to make ten perfect ginger biscuits from Rob’s recipe. Half will be square and half will be oval. And they need to be iced according to the patterns you’ve been given. You have two and a half hours. Ready, set …”

“Bake.”

“Two and a half hours for ginger biscuits?” Bittle said as he skimmed the recipe. Then his eyes widened as he caught sight of the icing patterns. “All about the bake, my foot. This is all about the icing. At least time-wise.”

The three bakers all started confidently enough, although Will had to begin again when, just a few minutes in, he lost track and put in one too many eggs. Once the dough was made and rolled out, it had to chill before baking, which gave the bakers time to draw and cut their oval and square templates.

“I don’t even know how to draw an oval and make it even,” Cait said. Jack noted that hers did look more like eggs.

Both Will and Cait cut their shapes before baking the biscuits; Bittle looked at his rolled-out dough and decided to bake it and then cut.

“That way I don’t have to worry about the edges burning,” he said. “They want a good snap, so that means we have to make sure they’re not underdone.”

The bake itself was short — less than ten minutes, which all the bakers used to start making different colors and consistencies of royal icing.

“The square ones have this lace pattern that’s really intricate,” Cait said. “The oval ones have a lot of colors, and the flowers are almost 3-D.”

There was nearly an hour left, and all three were icing their biscuits. Bittle was right, Jack thought. Not that the bake wasn’t important, but this was more of an icing challenge.

Will seemed to have pulled himself together after the mistake with the eggs. He was working quickly but meticulously, barely taking any notice of either Jack or Marty when they stopped to focus their lenses on his work.

Cait was working not so quickly. Her lace pattern seemed wonky, and on the oval eggs, she was employing a totally different strategy from Will’s. Where he was outlining areas with icing, then allowing the color to fill in between the lines, she was piping color onto the biscuits and then trying to outline it. 

“Thirty minutes to go,” Holster called. 

Ransom, standing near Cait, said, “That gives you just about four and a half minutes per biscuit remaining.”

“That’s not enough,” Cait growled.

Bittle was working quickly, if not quite meticulously. The patterns Hall had created were there, Jack thought, if in a bit of an impressionistic style.

“One thing my college career has taught me,” Bittle said, piping the last flower petal on his second-to-last biscuit, “is that done is often better than perfect. So these won’t be perfect, but they will be done.”

Then he looked up and said, “Of course, I’m an American studies major. If I was doing computer science like Will did, I might have a different opinion.”

In the end, Will took top honors for the technical. All three bakers had come through with tasty ginger biscuits and Will’s were by far the closest to Hall’s standard of decoration. Bittle came second — “The design on the square ones is recognizable as lace,” Atley noted — and Cait, who had not iced four biscuits at all, came last.

“To think I did well on the bread and I couldn’t even finish icing ginger cookies,” Cait said. “I’m really going to have to do well tomorrow. But I think it’s anyone’s competition to win, honestly.”

Will seemed less emotional about his win than he had been about the frustration of the bread challenge. 

“You win some, you lose some,” he said. “When I saw the challenge, I knew I could do it. It’s just a lot of precision work. They only question was could I do it better than the others. Maybe another day I couldn’t.”

Bittle shrugged at the camera and said, “Who knows what’s going to happen? Not me, that’s for sure. Cait and Will are both so talented — I’ve learned a lot from both of them. I almost can’t imagine either of them losing. But I’m still going to try to win.”

Jack stopped recording, and before Bittle could walk away said, “I think they’ve learned a lot from you, too. I know I have.”

Bittle just stared for a moment. Confused, maybe, at what Jack had to say? Jack really didn’t think he’d said anything that could be construed as offensive.

“Jack, that’s kind of you,” Bittle said, finally, his lips quirking up in a small smile. “But you’ve seen dozens and dozens of bakers come through here. I’d think you already knew as much as you wanted to about baking.”

“Not about baking,” Jack said. “About taking a chance.”

“Really?”

Bittle was looking up at him, all big brown eyes.

“Yes,” Jack said. “I think I’m going to go back to school once this season wraps.”

“Oh,” Bittle said, and looked down. When he looked back up, he was smiling again, but it was a sad kind of smile. “I’m sure you’ll do real well with whatever you want to do, Jack, though I’m not sure how I inspired you to get more education, seeing as I’m baking my way through mine. Did I ever tell you about the time I bribed my way into a class with a pie? Never mind. You don’t want to know about that. I’ve enjoyed working with you.”

He would like to know, Jack thought, about the bribery pie. Maybe Lardo could use that story in one of the background pieces on Bittle. But maybe Bittle didn’t want to share it with the world.

“Me too,” Jack said. “Enjoyed working with you, I mean. My offer stands — if you want to skate tonight, take your mind off tomorrow, I won’t go to the rink.”

“Maybe,” Bittle said. “When I want to procrastinate, I usually bake, but that’s not really an option here. I don’t think I can, though. I didn’t bring my skates, and the rental counter won’t be open.”

“Tell me your size,” Jack said. “I know the manager. I can get her to leave a pair out.”

“You’d do that?” 

Jack could hear the eagerness in Bittle’s voice. “Sure,” he said. “I can skate anytime.”

“I can too, sort of, when I’m at school,” Bittle said. “Like, any time the ice isn’t scheduled. So you’d think I could give it up for two days.”

Jack shrugged. “We all have our ways of coping.”

“Tell you what,” Bittle said. “If I go — and I’m pretty sure I have to get the okay from Ms. Duan — I’ll be done by 8:30 or so. Nine at the latest. If you want to skate later.”

* * *

Jack slept better on the night before the last day. Maybe it was because he felt like he’d made peace with his plan. Maybe it was because he felt like he had made peace with Bittle, finally. Maybe it was because he had skated for two hours last night, doing lap after lap, shooting puck after puck at the empty net, turning the coming changes over in his mind.

He’d arrived at the rink at 9:15, figuring that was late enough to make sure Bittle was done.

“We really can’t have you hanging out with one of the bakers the night before the final, no matter whether you actually like him or not,” Lardo said, when Jack cleared the plan with her. “It wouldn’t look good.”

“I know,” Jack said. “That’s why I’m going later. And I do like him. I like all three of the finalists. And not that I’m a judge or anything, but I could see any of them winning.”

Although, if he was honest, Jack was kind of hoping Bittle would pull it out.

“If you’d rather have Shitty call the rink and ask them to leave skates for him —” Jack said.

“No, that’s okay,” Lardo said. “Just make sure you’re not there at the same time. Who knew you and one of the finalists would have the same weird coping mechanism?”

He hoped the skate had helped calm Bittle. He’d found the skates on the rental counter, blades wiped and laces tied together. There was a note under them, thanking the manager for leaving them out, promising a pie in the near future.

Even though Jack was up past his usual bedtime skating, he woke refreshed and ready for whatever was to come.

Part of that was an extremely long day in the tent. Jack knew from the production notes that the day’s challenge, like most final showstoppers, would have each baker making multiple elements for a single dessert. 

“Are you ready for the final final challenge of our season?” Holster asked when the bakers and judges assembled. “For your last showstopper, Alice and Rob would like you to make a large entremet. As you all know, an entremet is something … that Ransom knows about.”

“An entremet,” Ransom said, “is a light, delicate multi-layered cake that was originally served as a dessert between courses. Yours must have five elements, one of which must be a sponge, and it must be covered with a glaze, or perhaps a ganache. Your choice.”

“You have five hours to produce your entremet,” Holster said. “One hour for each element, I guess. Ready, set …”

“Bake!”

The three bakers immediately pulled out their notes. For this one, they had pages and pages.

Jack was filming Cait as she mixed the batter for her sponge when the judges approached Bittle, Tater in tow.

“I’m making mine an Ode to the Honeybee,” Bittle said. “I’ve always loved honey and the way the flavors can be so different.”

His entremet, he explained, would include an orange blossom sponge, blackberry jelly, hazelnut feuilletine, lemon curd and lavender mousse, covered with a white chocolate marbled mirror glaze and decorated with a chocolate honey bee and flower.

Jack could hear the skepticism in Atley’s voice even without looking behind him. “Are you sure all those flavors will go together? Lemon and lavender? It sounds like it might be furniture polish,” she said.

Bittle was quiet for a moment before he said, “I think the lavender works pretty well, actually.”

“Bees like all those things,” Hall said. “Maybe we will too.”

“Shall I take them away?” Ransom asked.

“Please,” Bittle said.

Jack traded places with Tater as the judges approached Cait’s bench. Her entremet would have yuzu flavoring in multiple elements, including a genoise sponge and a bavarois that would encase all the layers. The bavarois and the glaze would both have white chocolate, as well. The cake would also have a coconut dacquoise (maybe no one told her Atley didn’t like coconut? But if she’d watched the past seasons …) and a dragon fruit jelly.

“I guess it is inspired by some of the flavors that you find in the markets in the Bay Area,” Cait said. “I’m hoping it will be a little different from the others. The yuzu is like citrus, but very light. And then the dragon fruit will add a pop of color.”

Will’s entremet was also, surprisingly, Asian-inspired. Not surprisingly, it’s complicated design meant Will was going to have to do a lot more work than the others.

“So how did someone from Maine end up with a yin-yang design?” Rob asked, as Jack was back filming Bitty as he stirred lemon curd, then fetched his cake tin from the freezer to add another layer.

“I, uh, have a friend, I guess,” Will said. “And he reminded me about how the world needs opposites. I was thinking about that when I was trying to come up with a design, then I saw the cake tins online, and I thought this would be good.”

“Does having to build two separate entremets concern you?” Alice asked. “And having to do two glazes?”

“Well, one is a glaze, the other is a ganache applied freezing so it’s almost like a velvet finish,” Will said. “But the inside layers are the same.”

Jack got a shot of Bittle pausing as Will spoke, and then shaking his head. Then Bittle saw Jack watching and turned his attention back to his bench, where he was forming a flower out of colored chocolate while the layers of his entremet set in the freezer.

Jack moved on to record Cait for a few minutes.

“Jack,” Bittle said, from across the tent. “It looks like Marty’s busy, and you might want this part.”

Bittle was standing at his bench, a sheet of bubble wrap in his hand.

“You realize you don’t have to ship this anywhere, right?” Jack said. 

“I know.” Bittle rolled his eyes, but Jack thought it looked more amused than really exasperated. “But I know y’all like to show people things they could maybe do at home. I’m going to use this as a kind of mold to make my honeycomb.”

So Jack turned his camera to Bittle’s bench as he poured the warm moldable chocolate, colored bright yellow this time, over the bubble wrap.

“It’s supposed to look like a piece of honeycomb so the edges don’t really matter,” Bittle said to the camera. “I mean, Will would probably have made his own mold with perfect hexagons, but I think this’ll get the idea across.”

Marty was covering Will at the moment. He was adding a layer to his yin-yang cake tins, and loudly wondering why he chose a design that required two separate cakes.

“All right bakers,” Ransom announced. “You have a half-hour left. Thirty minutes until you are done with this life-changing journey. But no pressure.”

The bakers were working on their glazes now. Will, once again, had two to do. Bittle had a chocolate collar to fit around the outside of his entremet. Cait was doing a simple glaze with molded decorations on top.

“Oh, no!”

Jack looked up to see that Bittle had knocked the chocolate collar into the side of its mold as he took it out. Marty had a camera on him, so Jack turned to Will, who was trying to finish the white chocolate ganache for half of his entremet.

He could hear Bittle narrating what he was doing for Marty, could hear the distress in his voice as he tried to hold himself together.

“I’m just going to have to try to bring it as close as I can,” he said. “There’s no time to do it again, so this is going to have to be it. I guess I could bring it up with the crack in the back, but you know they’re going to see it anyway..”

“Bits, you need an extra hand?” Cait asked.

“Aw, sugar, you have enough of your own work to do,” Bittle said. 

“I have a minute,” Cait said.

“Then yes, please,” Bittle said. “Can you hold that right there?”

As the time ticked away, Bittle and Cait put the finishing touches on their desserts, and, in the final seconds, watched Will placing his last decorations with toothpicks so as not to mar the finish on his glaze.

All three cakes looked amazing, but Jack knew that if he could only sample one, it would be Bittle’s. It just looked like something made with love, with a friendly-looking bee and a pretty flower and a sunny yellow color. Like it was made to be enjoyed, not just admired.

Cait’s, on the other hand, was almost minimalist, stark white with splashes of red. Will’s yin and yang fit together almost perfectly, but they didn’t really look two halves of the same cake. The dark yin side, covered with a blue marbled mirror glaze, just looked more … finished, maybe?

Bittle got good comments, Jack thoug fr ht. The cracked chocolate collar was noticed, but neither judge made much of it, and Atley conceded that all the flavors worked together. That had to be good.

Cait’s reviews were also good, but Jack thought they weren’t quite as good as Bittle’s. Hall thought the decoration wasn’t elaborate enough, though he did like the yuzu flavoring.

The judges both complimented Will’s ambition in his yin-yang entremet, but they also questioned it’s execution. Atley said the jelly layer wasn’t quite set, and Hall said the two halves looked too different to really go together.

By the time the finalists walked out of the tent carrying their final desserts, Jack was pretty certain Bittle had won.

Jack followed him across the meadow, shot him embracing a woman who had to be his mother (she looked just like him, only a couple of inches shorter) and a man who was probably his father. The rowdy group of young guys who all towered over Bittle had to be his hockey team. They also hugged a teary Bittle and told him he was a winner no matter what happened with the judging.

Jack held his camera steady, but wanted to look away. It seemed a violation of Bittle’s privacy, for him to be watching these moments. It felt like intimacy, the kind of intimate friendship he’d like to have with Bittle but hadn’t yet earned.

“Now y’all are just gonna have to wait a minute to get a slice,” Bittle said, stifling his tears and showing a genuine smile. “And most of you ate the practice runs anyway.”

Jack saw the other contestants working their way through the crowd, finding one another and their favorite finalists. Chowder was in the middle of Cait’s family, looking like he’d already been accepted as one of them. She embraced him for a long time, and Jack saw him kiss her on the cheek.

“I’m so proud of you,” he said.

Derek was standing near a crowd of redheads who had to be related to Will. Will worked his way down the line, greeting each of them, ending with what looked like a middle-school-aged sister. Then he looked up and saw Derek extending a hand to shake. Will took his hand and pulled him into a hug.

“Thanks for being here, man,” Will said.

“Chill,” Derek said. “Coming for the final is part of the deal.”

“I know,” Will said. “But you’re here. Not over there —” Will nodded at Bittle’s family and friends — “or there.”

Will nodded at Cait’s family.

Derek nodded.

“I want to congratulate them too,” he said. “But I wanted to congratulate you first.”

When the judges appeared, the three finalists assembled in front of their friends and family. Given the judges earlier comments, Jack didn’t think Will or Cait was surprised to see the cake plate go to Bittle. Bitte seemed the most surprised, not even seeming to believe what was happening when Holster said, “It would probably be better to give this baker a pie plate.”

After taping the congratulations and final thoughts, Jack was ready to pack up.

“Lardo, do you have a minute?” he asked before leaving. “I wanted to let you know I won’t be back next season.”

“No?” she said. “Is there a problem someone needs to handle?”

“No,” Jack said. “I just realized that I need to go back to school, if I’m going to do what I want to do when I grow up.”

Then he headed out, only to be waylaid by Bittle just before he boarded the crew shuttle.

“I saved this for you,” Bittle said, shoving a plate with a slice of his entremet in Jack’s direction. “I usually bake a whole pie as a thank you — and that’s coming! — but this was the best I could do for today. So thanks for the skating, and the pep talks and such.”

“It’s nothing I wouldn’t do for anyone on the show, Bittle,” Jack said, even though he knew it was a lie.

“I know,” Bittle said. “Because underneath that icy exterior, you’re really a kind and sweet person.”

Jack wanted to protest, but Bittle was pushing the plate into his hands, and, face downcast, walking away.

“Bittle, wait,” Jack said. “I quit the show.”

“Okay,” Bittle said. “To do what?”

“Go back to university,’ Jack said. “Finish my degree.”

“Good for you,” Bittle said. “You’ll be great.”

When Bittle started to turn away again, Jack reached for his arm. “Bittle … Bitty. Why are you upset?”

“No reason,” Bittle said. When he turned and looked up at Jack, he was so close, and now Jack could see tears threatening to fall. “Just an emotional reaction. To everything. You know.”

They stood like that for a moment, Jack trying to decide if he _did _know. Sure, emotions sometimes burst out in ways he wasn’t expecting, but these didn’t look like happy tears, or tears of relief. Bittle looked … sad? Disappointed?

“Bittle,” Jack said, and that seemed too distant for this moment. “Bitty.”

It was the work of a second — less than that, even — for Jack to lean down and kiss Bitty. He hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t thought he would do it (of course he’d thought of doing it, but maybe some time weeks or months in the future, some time when he knew Bitty wanted it too, but only if the next weeks played out the way he hoped). Jack tried to pull back, to apologize, to at least put the plate with the pie down, but Bitty stayed with him, kissing him back, and wasn’t that a revelation. He was as sweet and warm and soft as Jack expected, but there was an undercurrent of spice, too.

Jack could feel the faint roughness of Bitty’s stubble under his fingers as he cupped Bitty’s jaw with his free hand, the stubble that only ever showed up as a touch of golden sparkle on camera.

When Bitty’s lips released his, Jack drew in a long breath.

“Sorry,” he finally said. “I probably should have asked first. I guess this taking chances thing got the better of me.”

“Asking would have been fine,” Bitty said, now smiling and not — definitely not — crying. “But this was good too. You really want —”

“You,” Jack said. “Now that I don’t work for the show, I want to take you out on dates and get to know you when you’re not under pressure to produce perfection on camera. I know I kind of was an ass at the beginning, but I really like you, and I hope you’ll give me a chance.”

“And here I was thinking I’d fallen for a straight boy,” Bitty said, shaking his head. “But my shuttle’s leaving, Jack. I have to go.”

“I’ll text you,” Jack said as Bitty walked away.

Jack put the plate down at his feet to text Bittle before he even made it to the contestant van.

_Hi. I’m going backwards, but want to get dinner with me? Soon?_

Bitty must have read it as soon as he sat down, because the return text came within moments.

_Of course. And don’t let that entremet go to waste! _

_ [Iced ginger biscuits](https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/prues-iced-ginger-biscuits/) _

_A simplified version of the [entremet](https://thegreatbritishbakeoff.co.uk/sophies-ode-honey-bee-entremet/) Bitty makes_


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up: I’m writing a few short vignettes of Bitty’s POV throughout the season. I’m making this a series so I can add them as a separate work. If you’re interested, subscribe to the series!

_Based at least partially on how fellow contestants made cakes for the wedding of Series 5 baker Martha Collison_

“You may now kiss your husband.”

Jack stepped closer to kiss Bitty, cupping his jaw the same way he had that first time, kissing behind the crew van five years ago.

This time, the kiss wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment impulse, an effort to erase the sadness and threat of tears from Bitty’s face. This time, it had been planned for, rehearsed even.

There were still tears wetting Bitty’s eyelashes, but they were tears of joy, Jack was sure. And maybe relief that the wedding planning was finally over.

Bitty still went on his toes to meet Jack’s lips, a move that thrilled Jack no less for all its familiarity. Bitty was still the sweetest person — literally and figuratively — that Jack had ever known, still spreading warmth and joy to the people around him.

The past five years had been good to them. Jack had finished a master’s in history, used his experience behind a camera to get a couple of jobs working on History Channel shows, and had made a couple of documentary shorts. He had plans for a full-length documentary in the works, with some backing from his parents, and some adjunct teaching, partially to feel like he was putting some work into helping with the bills but mostly because he enjoyed it.

Bitty … Bitty had blossomed. Jack stepped back from the man in his arms, still six inches shorter than him but broader across the shoulders and chest than he had been five years ago. Jack’s parents had fallen in love with Bitty almost more quickly than Jack had, and Bitty loved them right back. That might have helped him have the confidence to come out to his own parents just before his season of the bake-off had aired.

“I feel like such a fool for making a big deal about it with Holster,” Bitty told Jack when he explained his decision. “But now — especially since I won — I know people are going to be asking about me, and I’m out to pretty much everyone at school. This isn’t exactly flying under the radar here.”

Coming out to his parents had gone better than Bitty expected, mostly, despite some misunderstandings and hurt feelings on both sides. Jack had been with Bitty when he did it, and the Bittles had accepted Jack as their son’s boyfriend pretty much as soon as they accepted that their son wanted a boyfriend. Both families were here to celebrate their wedding; Bitty’s mom was only a little star-struck by Jack’s parents.

The rest of the room was filled with friends on both sides. There were plenty of professional hockey players, between Jack’s honorary ‘uncles’, Kent and a couple of other teammates from juniors, and even a friend of Bitty’s from Samwell, Connor Whisk.

“With a name like that, you’d think he’d be the baker,” Bitty said when he introduced Jack. 

There were also their shared friends from the bake-off, Lardo and Shitty and Ransom and Holster, even Atley and Hall. Tater and Marty came, too, and so did nearly all the bakers from Bitty’s season.

The bakers not only came, they all brought cakes. The dessert table didn’t have one four-tier white tasteless monstrosity; it had a coconut layer cake from Cait, a four-level chocolate tower from Will, a rainbow ruffle cake from April, pink princesstarta from March, and something called a Lane cake from Derek, that he said he learned how to bake just for Bitty. There was a carrot cake, a salted caramel cake, and a red velvet cake, all decorated with frosting and flowers, and Jack wasn’t sure what all the others were.

He did know he wasn’t going to have more than a forkful of any of them. When they’d started planning the wedding, Bitty (bake-off winner, baking vlogger, cookbook author, Food Channel host Bitty) wanted to make the cake. Jack (and Suzanne, and Alicia) had done their best to talk him out of it. He’d have far too many details to fuss over, the mothers pointed out. Jack wanted Bitty to fuss over _him, _though he did not actually say so.

It was Lardo who came to the rescue, with an innocent question about whether Bitty’s baking tent-mates would be invited, and, if so, wouldn’t they want to contribute something?

She got in touch with them, and soon the calls and texts were pouring in, begging to be allowed to contribute a cake to Bitty and Jack’s wedding. How could Bitty say no?

But he didn’t give up on baking completely. Jack knew that when the party was finally over and they got to their hotel suite, there would be a perfect maple-apple pie waiting.

“Just for us,” Bitty said. “We can make it together.”

So they had, the last thing before they separated the night before the ceremony.

The meal was over, as were the toasts. Jack and Bitty circulated among the tables greeting the guests, and then sliced into each of the cakes so the catering staff could take them back and plate them for the guests.

“Ready for our first dance?” Bitty said, sliding into the circle of Jack’s arms. They’d agreed early on to just dance (“Like we do in our living room,” Jack said) to ‘Halo’, one of Bitty’s favorite Beyonce songs. 

As soon as their dance was over, other couples took the floor, starting with Chowder and Cait and — was that Will and Derek?

“Ready to get out of here, bud?” Jack whispered.

“Absolutely, sweet pea,” Bitty said.

They were waylaid by Shitty and Lardo, the unofficial best couple, before they could sneak out the service door.

“We’ll get sections of all the cakes boxed up and frozen for you,” Lardo said. “For when you come back.”

“Go have fun, you crazy kids,” Shitty said. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Like that’s really possible,” Bitty said. “Enjoy the rest of the party.”

Finally they were out of the room.

“Ready to start the rest of our lives?” Jack said. 

“I can’t wait,” Bitty said. “Don’t forget — there’s pie.”

_ Nursey’s Lane cake _

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://justlookfrightened.tumblr.com)!


End file.
